


A Dragon's Tale

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilbo is So Done, Complete, Dragon Bilbo Baggins, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Gandalf Meddles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Ring Influence, Minor War Violence, Poor Bilbo, Retelling, Sass Master Bilbo, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is Salty, Timeline What Timeline, everyone is dramatic, lore what lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 132,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: Bilbo Baggins has been a hobbit for many long years and he should very much like to keep it that way, thank you very much.An old friend drops by Bag End with the offer of an adventure and despite Bilbo's refusal, the idea of only thirteen dwarves and a wizard facing a dragon may just convince him yet. After all, he has experience with the Great Dragons of the North. Once upon a time, he was one.





	1. Chapter 1

A cool, late-summer breeze kissed his face and he smiled toward the sky, eyes closed in his bliss. The scent of iris, lupine, and poppies stood out the most to him, carried by the wind, but he may have been biased considering they were his very favorites of the season. Soon enough and he would be planting his fall garden: it announced that time of the year that was red and golden and smelled of apples; pumpkins and walnuts overflowing from barrels throughout the Shire. It was entirely lovely and he was looking forward to an excuse to begin baking in excess.

As he lifted his pipe to take a drag of Old Toby, he startled at the tickle of smoke against his nose, blinking his eyes open. A towering and looming figure stood at his fence, looking down at him with a kind smile and a twinkle in his eye. All grey, as always, a pointy hat atop his head and a wooden staff in his hands.

Bilbo Baggins blinked dumbly at Gandalf before he let out a noise of shock, hopping to his feet. “Gandalf!” he shouted, watching the wizard begin to chortle. “What on _earth_ are you doing here? Oh, it is very good to see you, my friend!” He hurried to his gate and opened it, gesturing exuberantly for the wizard to enter his yard. “Come in, come in! How are you faring?”

“My dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said, fondness coloring his voice as stepped forward. He kneeled down and placed a large hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, gripping it and giving a good-natured squeeze. “It is good to see you. I’m well, my old friend, I’m well. You haven’t aged a day, have you?” The wizard tipped his head back and peered at him from under his bushy eyebrows, raking his eyes up and down along his person. Inspecting, as per usual.

Bilbo chuckled. “I should think not! I’m doing wonderfully, you know, and whatever you’re here for, my answer is no,” he said, grinning and rocking forward on his toes as the wizard shot him a sharp look. “What? Do you think I don’t know you? Have you come to help me prune my garden? Perhaps plan my birthday party? No, nope, and not ever! What business do you have with me? Oh, how terribly rude, please come in and have some tea.” He waved for Gandalf to follow, hearing a huff behind him, happily ignoring it as he moved to his smial door. He opened it for the wizard and closed it behind him before he trotted off to his kitchen.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf called wearily. “You cannot ignore me. And I think I would like some wine, thank you. It’s been a very long journey and I know you only have the best in your cellars. It should be nearing luncheon and I would like to join you at your table for it!”

“Of course you would,” Bilbo sighed, shaking his head to himself as he moved to his pantry. He wandered into his wine cellar and grabbed a lovely red, hastening to fetch a Big Folk glass for the wizard. When he heard a pained grunt from just down the hall, he snorted, moving to his dining room. “That is what I would call your ‘handwriting on the wall,’ Gandalf, and if that isn’t a sign of what troubles you’ll find here, I don’t know what is!” The hobbit opened the bottle of wine as Gandalf ducked into the dining room, grumbling and carrying his chair of choice - not that Bilbo had many so large, of course.

“That is the sign of a home of exceedingly small individuals,” the wizard grumped as he kneed chairs away to set his own in place. He sat down and when Bilbo handed him a full glass of wine, he smiled and murmured his thanks. Gandalf took a healthy drink, not even bothering to savor it, which the hobbit thought a bit of a waste. It was one of his oldest and deserved some quality time with whoever was drinking it!

He waggled his finger at the wizard. “I will not allow you to drink me out of house and home this time around,” he warned but the wizard only waved dismissively at him and mumbled into his cups. Bilbo rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and heading for his pantry once more. “Do you know what, I’m not even going to cook. You’ll have sandwiches and you’ll enjoy them! And the answer is still no, make no mistake. I will join you momentarily, please make yourself at home!” The hobbit gathered what he needed to make a large spread of cold turkey and tomato sandwiches, along with a platter of different cheeses and fruits.

Yes, Bilbo Baggins knew Gandalf the Grey quite well! They went back centuries, really, if he thought about it. Goodness, had it been such a long time? He supposed it had! Even as old as he was, time still went by perilously quick and he had to dig his heels into the ground sometimes to appreciate the present.

They had met in the far Northeast of Middle Earth, when dragons reigned over those lands and began to spread their wroth South. It was a dangerous time for all given the darker powers that ruled and which attempted to turn the mighty beasts to their cause; most did, even himself, but most also _fell_. Bilbo himself had taken an arrow as tall as a Man (and thick as one's calf too) to his belly and surely would have died if a wizard hadn’t appeared at his side.

Bilbo was indeed a dragon. Or he had been, at any rate. Now he was a hobbit, a queer creature of the West that Gandalf had been fond of from the beginning of their days; and really, after being turned _into_ a hobbit, he could see why. He was quite fond of them by now as well! It took many years when he had first appeared to be accepted but the matriarch of the Baggins clan at the time had finally taken him under wing and taught him of their ways. So he was a Baggins from there on out - Mad Baggins to most other hobbits.

He still was Mad Baggins but it was an entirely fond endearment now. The hobbits of the current generations cherished his presence and his advice - they were also fiercely protective of him, much to his own amusement. He found he could take care of himself but if it made them happy to protect him from any outsiders, well, could he really deny them?

And Bilbo wasn’t even the first dragon-turned-something-else! Gandalf had saved two more of his kin but he never hoped to see them again - not that he particularly wanted to, of course. He had always been a bit of a loner, dragon-kind or hobbit, and found he didn’t miss his scaly kin one bit. Perhaps that was why he let the wizard save his life: to seek out a different kind that he might feel more ‘right’ with. Of course he hadn’t _really_ wanted Gandalf to save his life at the beginning of their conversation, either! He had informed the wizard he was quite alright bleeding out on the bank of a river and doing anything more than that seemed like a chore. When he asked if Gandalf may have had a last meal lying around, the wizard bopped him on the snout with his staff and declared laziness a poor excuse for dying. And now here he was. A hobbit.

A _peaceful_ hobbit for many long years, thank you _very_ much.

Bilbo served his guest luncheon and made a cup of tea for himself before he sat across from the wizard. “So! What have you been up to, Gandalf? Wreaking havoc across Middle Earth?” he asked cheerfully, raising his eyebrows innocently at the pursed-lipped frown he received.

“My duties, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said far too seriously. He huffed when the hobbit snorted. “You may call it wreaking havoc but I call it adding a bit of spice to life. Something we could all use, I should think.”

Bilbo laughed, covering his mouth with his hand before he was able to finish chewing. “Of course. I’m sure that’s what everyone you came across thought it was, just adding a bit of spice to life, not diving headlong into a perilous adventure, eh?” he said, waving his sandwich toward the wizard. His good humor melted away when Gandalf clasped his hands together and leaned across the table toward him, an odd glint in his eyes.

“Speaking of adventure,” he began, ignoring the hobbit’s immediate scowl, “I believe I have an offer of one and just for you, my dear friend. You will listen to my offer, Bilbo Baggins, as a guest of your home!” His voice grew louder to compensate for the fact that Bilbo had clamped his hands over his ears and was shaking his head dramatically. “You have been sitting idly for far too long!”

The hobbit gaped at him as he dropped his hands. “Sitting _idly?_ ” he squeaked indignantly. “Pardon me, I believe I’ve been sitting exactly the way you originally intended me to be and the way I very much like now! I told you, no! No to whatever you’re planning, no to any further madness in my life, I’ve had quite enough of it. No, no, and _no_. No adventures, they are terrible things that give you scars and make you late for dinner. I’m very happy here, you know.”

“Are you? Are you happy here?” Gandalf asked, apparently not believing such a dastardly thing could happen. “You have known the wide world and it is far beyond the Shire now. It has been centuries since you left this place and when we first arrived here, we spoke of how one day you might travel as the hobbit you now are. You wished to see the world from the ground and not the sky.”

Bilbo sent him a flat look, entirely unimpressed. “And that was right after I _found_ myself a hobbit. I thought I’d feel the itch to stretch my legs but I never have! My life is here, in my hobbit-hole, reading and writing and eating and celebrating a very _simple_ life indeed. I do not even want to know what you’re planning, don’t bother telling me unless you’d like to hear further protests; the answer is and will forever be _no_ ,” he stated firmly, taking a large bite of his sandwich.

Gandalf’s mouth twisted into a frown before he harrumphed and took up his own sandwich. Along with _three_ more. Bilbo blinked as he watched the wizard move to his feet, dodging the lit chandelier above the table and looking down his large nose at the hobbit. The hobbit who glared right back up at him, opening his mouth to tell him off, but the wizard beat him to it.

“Then it is settled. I shall inform the others,” he declared loudly, turning and swooping out of the dining room. Bilbo dropped his jaw, pointing after him, a strangled whine leaving his throat. He hopped up, abandoning his own sandwich, and hastened after the wizard who was walking with purpose toward his front door.

“Excuse me! Where do you think you’re going? You’ve only just arrived and- and you shall not be informing anyone of anything! There is nothing _to_ inform anyone of! Gandalf! _Wizard_ , by all the Valar, if I could breathe fire-“

“You would set me ablaze?” Gandalf interrupted drily. “What I shall be informing the others of is my business but I should think I will see you soon, my friend, whatever comes out of it. I will be in the Shire for another night yet! Expect my return and perhaps keep that fine vintage ready for it.” He opened the smial door and ducked through it, stepping back out onto Bilbo’s doorstep.

“Y-You- I should- what do you- absolutely not!” the hobbit cried in distress as he stood in the doorframe, staring up at the wizard with wide eyes. “Goodness gracious me, Gandalf, I am too old for this! There will be no adventures here, thank you _very much!_ I am far beyond that sort of thing, believe you me, and I swear, if you show up at my home with any other persons I will _not_ open my door! No indeed. Will you not stay and finish your lunch? Surely it’s better than attempting such a thing while you’re- well, whatever you’re doing. Walking!”

Gandalf waved his staff, balancing between it and his armful of sandwiches as he looked down at the hobbit. “There is little time and I will be fine,” he answered, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. “My dear fellow, calm yourself. This will be a good visit yet and I think you may find your interest piqued. If nothing else, it shall be most amusing for me. Until then!” He made an aborted attempt at raising his staff in farewell lest he lose a sandwich before he was off, sweeping down Bilbo’s yard - the latch on his gate mysteriously opened by itself and the wizard nudged it the rest of the way with his foot.

The hobbit stared after him, his jaw lowered and his finger held in the air. “G-Gandalf!” he managed to squeak out in one last indignant cry. The wizard did not look back. Bilbo swayed, reaching out to grab his door, watching a pointy hat bobbing as Gandalf trudged down Bagshot Row and eventually disappeared. “I say! If he thinks I will humor him for even a moment, he has another thing coming!” He waggled his finger toward the path before he turned on his heel and stormed into his smial, closing the door behind him with a decisive bang.

No, certainly not, no adventures. They were for the young and foolhardy and he was neither. Bilbo Baggins’ place was in Bag End and it would remain that way for the rest of his long life. Yes indeed, _no_ adventuring.

——

The first dwarf had been both confusing and terrifying; Bilbo was certain he had the wrong home. When the second dwarf had come, his confusion had only increased and by the third and fourth, he was downright _irritated_. But really, it was the other eight that had quite literally fallen into his home, backed by Gandalf, that were the true kicker for him.

“ _I want them out,_ ” he hissed, balling his hands into tight fists at his sides as he glared at the wizard. “Gandalf, I want them out of my home! I gave you my answer earlier and- and now look at what you’ve done! I have twelve blasted dwarves in my home raiding my pantry and destroying my furniture! Look at my _floors!_ What is the meaning of this? I told you _no!_ ” He scowled as Gandalf gazed down at him as if he were a misbehaving fauntling.

“Bilbo, calm yourself,” he ordered, which just had the hobbit’s hackles rising further - that was the _second_ time in one day the wizard had commanded that. “This is a merry gathering, many of these dwarves have not seen each other for years. You can join in with their good cheer, if you would like, and leave your unnecessary worries behind you.”

The hobbit opened and closed his mouth twice before a gurgle of anger escaped his throat. “What did you say? Unnecessary worri- oh, you must be joking! I don’t care if they haven’t seen each other for _years_ , I haven’t seen _you_ for years and I don’t throw my food about when I finally do!” he snarled, planting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot on the ground. “And they certainly don’t have to be so joyful in _my_ home. What are you planning? I am quite serious, tell me right this instant what you are planning with these dwarves!”

Gandalf sighed, his eyebrows drawing together. “All in due time, Bilbo, all in due time,” he returned wearily, as if _he_ were the one thrust into a precarious situation. “We are missing one but he will come and we will _discuss_ it, my dear boy. Until then, I suggest you cal-“

“Do not say it again!” Bilbo snapped, digging his fingertips into his sides as they trembled. He hadn’t felt that particular twitching in a very long time - the one where he wished he had talons and could put them to good use. Gandalf noticed and narrowed his eyes at him, squaring his shoulders. The hobbit huffed, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline as he stared right back in challenge.

“So, we hate to interrupt,” a voice said from behind Bilbo, slightly familiar to him.

“But we’ve finished supper and we were wondering where we should toss the leftover mess,” another voice chimed in and the hobbit turned around, glowering at the two young dwarves. ‘Ee’ something, that was all he remembered, one blond and the other brunet.

The dark-haired one flinched and took a step back at the look on Bilbo’s face but his brother (he thought) was pursing his lips tight and trying not to laugh. His rather pronounced dimples gave him away and the hobbit found himself lamenting for their parents - he knew troublemakers when he saw them. He arched his eyebrows at them, forcing himself to find patience.

“Pardon?” Bilbo asked, then started. “Oh, er, I use quite a lot of it for compost, which is outside and ‘round the corner of my home. But, ah, please don’t touch it, just take whatever you lot have left behind and leave it outside, thank you.” He hunched his shoulders as another dwarf appeared with one of his plates in hand, looking at the hobbit and giving a polite smile, despite his obvious unease.

“Excuse me,” the young dwarf said, “but what can I do with my plate?”

Bilbo would rather not speak of what happened over the next five moments, thank you, as his heart only just barely survived the ordeal. He stood, tugging at his suspenders as he stared down at his table covered in cleaned and dried dishes, stacked and ready to put away. As if they were handled by _proper_ houseguests and the dwarves were _certainly_ not that. His shoulder was clapped by that blond one and when he looked at him, he found himself unable to stop a quick smile; perhaps they were poking fun at him but it wasn’t entirely meant with offense.

The three bangs on his door stole the smile right from him and he swung his gaze to the archway as his home fell silent. Bilbo was beginning to think of the dramatics of dwarves but when Gandalf looked concerned and announced ‘he’ was there, the hobbit wondered who in Middle Earth the wizard had invited to his smial. And why could ‘he’ not use the blasted bell?

As the dwarves piled from his dining room, he got a bit lost in the fray, and it was only when he heard a deep baritone voice mention a _mark_ on his door that he was able to tumble into his hall. He straightened himself out and scowled, pointing at his door.

“There is no mark on that door, I painted it just this past week-“

“There is a mark. I put it there myself,” Gandalf interrupted, shooting him a _look_. Bilbo felt he was instructing him to behave but considering he was _in_ _his_ _own hobbit-hole_ , he was quite ready to tell the wizard just what he thought of that. “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

The hobbit met blue eyes and felt himself pinned to his spot by them. Now that he actually looked at his newest guest, he could certainly see that the dwarf was their leader - he had a bearing about him that spoke of royalty but before he could ask, _Thorin_ was sweeping his gaze along him. Their ‘leader’ looked entirely unimpressed and Bilbo felt his irritation rising further - at Gandalf, at the situation, and at whatever derogatory thoughts were clearly going through this dwarf’s mind.

“So this is the hobbit,” Thorin said, mirth at his expense growing in his eyes. “Tell me Master Baggins, have you done much fighting?” Bilbo blinked twice as the dwarf began to round his _person_ , clearly taking him in and goodness _gracious,_ the amount of _arrogance_ he felt oozing from this one. The hobbit glanced at Gandalf before he looked back to the dwarf. _Much fighting_ that he could not speak of but the most petty part of him dearly wished to.

“I have skill with a bow, if you must know, but I fail to see how that’s relevant,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. “Why on _earth_ should I have any experience fighting? Are we planning on participating in a battle in the Shire this evening? No? Then why does it matter?” He glared at Thorin as the dwarf froze, staring at him, eyes becoming stormy as his heavy brow turned down. Yes, he could _bloody well defend himself,_ such a terrible _shock_.

“You use the bow?” the brunet dwarf suddenly burst out, shuffling closer and when Bilbo looked at him, he was grinning so widely it looked painful. “Why didn’t you say so sooner, Master Boggins? D’you have yours here? Most dwarves don’t have the dexterity for it, you see, but I do, obviously, so-“

“Kili,” Thorin all but growled and the dwarf shut his mouth. He swung his gaze to Gandalf, who put on an absolutely _terrible_ attempt at innocence. “Did you explain nothing to the hobbit of why we are here? You informed me you had chosen our burglar but you failed to mention he wasn’t aware of it himself. What is going on, Gandalf?” Bilbo did not like this dwarf but he was entirely of the same mind with that question and turned to face the wizard, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Gandalf harrumphed, looking warily between both of them before he gestured forward. “Let us sit and we will discuss it. Bilbo, gather some supper for Thorin, please, he’s had a long journey,” he said placatingly but didn’t bother to mask his pointed glare at the hobbit. “Come along. Fili, you seemed familiar with where mugs are, fetch Thorin an ale.”

 _Right_. Fili, Kili, he would remember that- _and_ _bother it all_ , it didn’t matter! Bilbo opened his mouth, fully prepared to begin a furious tirade but the dwarves, much like sheep, herded themselves in groups through his home and to the dining room once more. Thorin Oakenshield didn’t spare another glance at him and simply joined up with Dwalin, with whom he exchanged a skeptical look. The wizard waited until they were alone but when he attempted to speak, the hobbit held his hand up for silence, waving it and shaking his head firmly. He was entirely certain he would explode if he were forced to use his words right then.

Bilbo stalked off to his pantry, staring forlornly at the empty shelves, his shoulders hunching. Did they have to leave him with nothing but beets and parsnips? A tap to his shoulder startled him into clutching at his chest and he whirled around to the white-haired dwarf. Balin looked sympathetic as he handed Bilbo a bowl full of food, some sort of hearty meal thrown together at some point, and patted him on the shoulder with his free hand.

“Don’t mind him, he’s never been good with first impressions,” the dwarf said quietly and gestured toward the hall. “We set this aside for him before it could all disappear. Best take it to him yourself, laddie, as Gandalf asked.” He arched his eyebrows to show his apparent meaning before he turned and bustled back into the dining room. Bilbo clamped his eyes shut tight and leaned his head back, lightly smacking it twice against one of his shelves as he attempted to steel himself. Whatever nonsense was about to take place, he was certain he wanted nothing to do with it.

The hobbit left his pantry and moved to his overfull dining room, eyeing the back of Thorin’s head as he did so. He reached around and dropped the bowl unnecessarily hard onto the table, ignoring blue eyes as they snapped to him. Bilbo looked at Gandalf himself and squinted - he would be having words with the wizard the moment he was ready and he would not be holding back. Propriety could take a hike as far as he was concerned. It didn’t take long for the dwarves to begin speaking and it was with a much more sombre air now that their leader had joined them. Ah, so he was a stick in the mud at all times.

Bilbo barely listened, pacing back and forth along his rug, arms crossed over his chest. He was preparing different versions of his speech - one was mostly for himself given it’s colorful nature but it was easing some of his tension, either way. Words like quest and key and door were thrown around but it wasn’t until ‘burglar’ broke through his distracted mind that he turned to look at the throng of dwarves again. Burglar. That’s what Thorin had said - that _Bilbo_ would be some kind of burglar. Well, he certainly would not!

“W-What’s this about a burglar?” he asked as he stepped closer to the table and peered over Thorin’s shoulder. He frowned at the map until he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and snapped his eyes up to the dwarves. They were all staring at him, half suspicious and half oddly hopeful - his heart stuttered in his chest and he swallowed. “You need a burglar for your Quest?”

“We’ve said as much. Are you one or aren’t you?” a red-haired dwarf demanded - one of the suspicious variety. Bilbo pointed at himself, raising his eyebrows and managing a small snort. The dwarf turned away before he could possibly answer and looked between the others. “It is _time_. Oin has read the portents and they say it is so!” Bilbo blinked in confusion at the groans that statement brought about but the grey-haired dwarf with the trumpet puffed up.

“Aye! Ravens are returning to the Mountain as it was _foretold!_ ‘When the birds of old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.’ It is time!” he declared, the dwarves sitting nearest to him wincing at his volume. The red-haired dwarf nodded in satisfaction and turned to look at his leader once more. His eyes were distracted by the hobbit who was swaying on his feet.

Bilbo reached out and grabbed the corner of the chair Thorin was in. _Erebor, Quest, a Door, a_ Beast. Oh, he was a fool. He was a _terrible_ fool. He turned wide eyes to Gandalf, who was watching him with no small amount of concern - he looked prepared to catch the hobbit if he collapsed.

“Beast,” he choked out hoarsely, his eyebrows arching at the wizard. “What _beast?_ ” He had to hear it: he _would_ hear it. And then he would… well, he wasn’t sure what he would do, but he knew it would get his point across.

“Smaug,” Thorin grunted out from directly in front of him, turning his head to peer at the hobbit with disdain. “He is a dragon that took Ere-“

“I _know_ what he is,” Bilbo hissed, watching Thorin turn to stone before he looked at the wizard again. Gandalf at least looked apologetic but that did nothing for the hobbit’s rage. “S-Smaug? _Smaug?!_ Oh, _Gandalf_ … y-you can’t be serious! What are you _thinking?_ I will- I will absolutely not… oh dear, I am not feeling well.” He let go of the chair and stumbled back a few steps, holding his hands out at his sides to retain his balance. His vision was spotting with black, fuzzy dots and a sound like a roaring river was rushing through his ears. He heard his name filter through and shook his head. “I’m alright, yes- yes I’m, ah…“

When Bilbo felt a cool hand on his forehead, he startled and attempted to sit up from his prostrate position on the ground. The large hand stayed him and the hobbit blinked blearily up at Gandalf, who let out a sigh of relief. “Did I faint?” he mumbled once he found his words. The wizard’s pursed lips were enough and he nodded his acceptance, waving him away, and pushed himself up with his elbows. _Fainting_ had not been how he meant to prove his point but in Gandalf’s eyes, hopefully it worked well enough.

“Are you alright, Bilbo?” the wizard murmured and Bilbo clamped his eyes shut tight.

“Mhmm,” he hummed out. “Yes, just give me a moment, please and thank you. Actually, if someone could bring me a cup of tea, I would appreciate it. And then I should like to take myself to my bed and forget this evening has occurred. I think that’s the best thing for everyone at this point.” When he looked back to the wizard, he saw Thorin approach and stand at his side, staring down at him.

“You know of Smaug?” the dwarf asked and Gandalf whirled around to look at him with exasperation. Thorin ignored him, taking one step closer and raising his eyebrows. “How are you aware of him?”

Bilbo snorted, waving the wizard down from his growing irritation with the dwarf. “I read, Master Oakenshield,” he answered. “Did you know that a dragon taking over a mountain in the East and sending all of its inhabitants West past the Shire to establish the Blue Mountains might be interesting enough to jot down? Someone apparently thought as much.” He carefully pushed himself to his feet and when he looked back at Thorin, the dwarf was glaring at him.

It _was_ mostly true. Bilbo had very much read a short story of the day Erebor was taken by Smaug - gold had attracted him and from what he had come to understand, the Mountain was full of it. It had nearly made him ill and he hadn’t delved any further into the story. It was surreal enough to read about a dragon he was familiar with, let alone the terror he had laid down upon the dwarves. Gold was their greatest weakness and strength both; it attracted them like moths to a flame but they were stronger for it and the curse they spread did damage even if one escaped from their maws.

“The dragon may yet be dead,” Thorin commented. “He has not been seen in sixty years-“

“And dragons can sleep for much longer than that, it’s been said,” Bilbo interrupted, arching his eyebrows at the dwarf, shrugging his shoulders. “If you plan on storming Erebor, I hope you know you’re likely going to your death because that dragon is still alive. Probably. I-I don’t care what any portents say, you _are_ aware of what Smaug has done, yes?”

Thorin dipped his head. “I am intimately aware of what he has done, Master _Baggins_ ,” he ground out in a low voice. The hobbit had apparently touched a nerve. “I know the dangers of it but these signs will have been read by many. If they believe Smaug is dead or can easily be killed, they will storm the Mountain themselves. It is not theirs to take and I will not allow any but one of the line of Durin to sit on its throne.”

Bilbo squinted at him. “And you are one of Durin’s Folk?” he asked evenly. Thorin inclined his head toward him and the hobbit pursed his lips. “Is that throne yours, is that what you’re saying?” The dwarf didn’t even have to twitch for Bilbo to have his answer. He sighed. “Right. I’ve got the King of Erebor in my smial, preparing for a mad Quest to slay a dragon; and you, Gandalf? How are you a part of this?”

The wizard looked as if he might be choosing his words carefully before he spoke. “Thorin’s father, Thrain, gave me the map and key to pass down when it was time. It is time now, Bilbo, both for Erebor to be retaken and the dragon slain. There is a change in the wind, I fear, and Smaug has sat comfortably for far too long. Where the Mountain lies offers a vantage point that could be used against many, if the wrong sort were to take Erebor, and we have the rightful king with us; Thorin is one that could unite the dwarven kingdoms and strengthen the East once more,” he explained, purposefully slow through some words. He wanted the hobbit to read between the lines, as it were. And Bilbo was fairly certain he had been successful.

He eyed Gandalf for a long moment before he looked back to Thorin; the dwarf was staring rather intensely at him and it was a might unnerving. Bilbo frowned, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “Alright. And how, exactly, do you plan on killing the dragon? Will you have an army waiting for you in the Iron Hills?” he asked. Strangely, the king’s posture became defensive, one shoulder turning more toward Bilbo, his fingers curling into a fist.

“I met with my kin but they will not stand with us. They think this Quest is a fool’s errand,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice. “They choose to ignore the signs out of hope that they are false but when I stand in Erebor once more, they will flock to the Mountain like vultures to carrion.” Bilbo wrinkled his nose at him.

“ _If_. _If_ you stand in Erebor once more,” he returned, holding up his hand when Thorin’s mouth opened to no doubt offer more horrid analogies. “Sorry, I happen to agree with your kin, this seems like an absurd thing to attempt even _with_ an army. And you are- you are _thirteen!_ That dragon could smash you all flat without any effort, I imagine; how exactly do you plan on _killing_ him?”

Thorin took a step closer to him. “I trust my Company with this Quest, as they trust me. We will see it done. Long have I waited to stand before the filth that killed my people and took my home from me; I _will_ see him dead. We require a burglar for this and Gandalf has recommended you for such a position though I know not why. You are not a creature meant for the Wild and skill with a bow or not, you would not fare well if we were to encounter troubles on the Road. We are not storming Erebor, Master Baggins, we are using small numbers and stealth to our advantage; and we require a thief. It is clear to me you are not one,” he informed the hobbit quietly, such a strong amount of scorn in his voice that it took Bilbo aback even further than he already was.

He watched unyielding blue eyes as they stared at his own hazel, warring between utter incredulity at the dwarf’s assumptions of him and still feeling _concern_ for his wellbeing. Because his blasted heart had grown too soft in the Shire! Bilbo could feel Gandalf’s own annoyances but found them particularly easy to ignore. He rapped his fingers against his arm from their still-crossed position and lightly shook his head.

“Now, we’ve only just met tonight, so I know you are, of course, _vastly_ aware of all that is me, Master Oakenshield, but can I clue you in on a little more?” he asked faux seriously, leaning further up toward the dwarf himself, ignoring the wizard’s grumbling. “I’ve learned through my life that when you read a book only by its cover and judge it solely on that, you can miss out on a great many things. Some books have changed lives and some have altered their readers’ viewpoints. If I were to look at your cover, I would deem you a gaudy, ugly thing that is attempting, by sheer volume, to impress but is failing rather spectacularly given your unappealing nature. But do you know what? I believe in _opening_ the blasted book before I write it off because I never know what I might _find_. You may want to practice at it yourself and perhaps then you’ll find your _thief_.”

Bilbo slid back, straightening his suspenders and leveling the dwarf with a glare. “Now. If you don’t mind, I should like to spend the rest of my evening far from foolish dwarves,” he stated, turning to Gandalf. The wizard was offering him a helpless gaze, though his eyes were twinkling - he was never overly fond of the hobbit’s sarcasm but he appreciated his spine. “Gandalf. I will take a kettle to my room and after you’ve given me enough time to enjoy a cup of tea by myself, you are more than welcome to join me for a friendly chat.” He tilted his head toward the wizard to show he fully intended on seeing him there before he turned on his heel and marched out of his sitting room, making his way to the kitchen.

The youngest dwarf, Ori, was already preparing him a kettle and when he caught sight of the hobbit, he hastened to finish. Bilbo murmured reassurances and thanks once he got his kettle, cups, and a pile of scones on a tray - and then he eagerly fled to his bedroom. Oh yes, he was quite finished with this evening and he had a thing or two to say to Gandalf; he did wish, however, that some weren’t out of genuine fear for the ‘Quest’ the dwarves were about to embark on.

——

When a sharp rap of knuckles sounded on Bilbo’s door, he cursed the spill of tea over his fingers as he startled, setting his cup aside and plucking up his napkin. “Yes yes, come in,” he called, mumbling to himself about pesky wizards as he patted himself dry. The door opened but when he heard heavy footfalls, the hobbit’s head snapped up and his gaze locked on Thorin Oakenshield once again. He could have cried.

The king froze for only half a second before he closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room, looking entirely uncomfortable. Bilbo was sitting on his armchair in front of the fire and dearly wishing he had asked who it was - though he didn’t expect any dwarf to show up at his door! The hobbit’s nose twitched as he gestured at the wooden rocking chair in the corner of his room. Thorin glanced at it, then him, and arched a brow.

Bilbo sighed. “Then stand,” he sniffed, waving him forward. “Can I help you with something? I believe it was Gandalf I invited to join me and not yourself.”

Thorin took in a deep breath as he clasped his hands behind his back, turning a moody scowl to the fire rather than at the hobbit. “Gandalf is distracted entertaining my Company with a tale of a battle he fought in an Age ago,” he informed him, forcefully neutral. “I wished to speak with you on your earlier words.” Bilbo dropped his head back rather dramatically onto the top of his chair, rolling his eyes and heard a grunt in response.

“I won’t be offering a lecture, Master Hobbit,” Thorin supplied with some sarcasm of his own. “I received another for myself after you took your leave. The wizard apologized for your behavior but informed me I deserved it.” The hobbit snorted.

“Sounds like him,” he muttered, turning his eyes back on the king. “And you very much did deserve it. Have you come to apologize?”

“Will it make you less antagonistic?”

“Not likely but it would be appreciated all the same of course.” He offered a facetious smile at the sidelong glance he received.

Thorin sighed as he turned to face him. “I am sorry for the judgements I gathered without knowing you. Gandalf didn’t inform you of our purpose and I know now why you have been less than tolerable this evening; I might be as well in your position. You are not… what I expected for a burglar. The wizard seemed sure of you and your potential skill for it,” the king said, looking rather like he sucked on a lemon.

Bilbo blinked twice at him before he snorted, laughing in disbelief. “I feel as if I’ve just been insulted in numerous different ways. And you aren’t tolerable, by the by, you’ve been entirely _in_ tolerable yourself,” he said, chuckling again as Thorin visibly reined in his obvious irritation. “Goodness gracious me. You wrote me off the moment you saw me and you’ve been swimming in your pride since! I’m not a burglar, you’ve got that right, at least. I don’t make it a habit to steal given I’m a hobbit and we don’t want for anything here. Gandalf thinks I have an itch for adventure, he is attempting to exploit my helpful nature, and he knows hobbits are very light on their feet; small, too, of course. I can understand why he thought I might be good for it but that hardly means _I_ want anything to do with it.”

“You seem certain of our demise,” Thorin stated drily. “I’ve fought in and won great battles, Master Baggins. I would not throw my life, their lives, away so easily. I have confidence in this Quest and coming by my father’s map and key seems fate to me. There is no choice for me anymore, this is something I must do and I will do. Erebor belongs to dwarves and I will see my people roam her halls once again. You may not think it wise or perhaps even worth the risks but it is for myself and my Company; we will see it done with or without you. I am sorry for my harsh judgments this evening, they were undeserved and you have my thanks for hosting us though I know you had little choice in the matter. We will take our leave early tomorrow.”

The hobbit watched Thorin speak, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair and dropping his chin into his hand. “Thank you for that. Suppose I’ll continue to have no choice when it comes to you lot spending the night in my home,” he said with a breathy huff. “I understand why you want to do this, I really do. I simply don’t think it’s a good idea and there is a far greater chance of failure than there is of success.”

“And the chance of success is enough for me,” the king returned firmly. “It is enough for all of us. Balin has written contracts for each member of the Company and he asked that I give you the one meant for our burglar. I see not why as you have made it clear you wish not to join us but it is yours to view. Regardless of what Gandalf has said, I still don’t believe you fit to join us and that it is for the best you remain in your Shire.” He stepped closer as he spoke and retrieved a thick piece of folded parchment from under his outer tunic, holding it out toward the hobbit.

Bilbo sighed as he took it, unfolding it and blinking at the length of it. He read the first few lines of it and mumbled to himself - it was clearly going to be thorough. The hobbit paused as he heard his bedroom door open and lifted his head, raising his eyebrows as he watched Thorin leave the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Well. At least he had apologized even if he still managed to insult him while doing so; and he very much doubted Bilbo’s capabilities. Bilbo rather doubted _his_. He read through until he came across what injuries and gruesome deaths he might come across, tossing it onto the table next to him; he found himself familiar with the way dragons might choose to kill something. The hobbit thought it fair he might not want to be on the receiving end of it for once.

Only a few moments of silence were to be enjoyed because another knock came to his door. Bilbo sniffed, knowing it was Gandalf, and he called for the wizard to join him. And join him he did, happily taking a cup of tea and a scone as he chose to sit on the ground across from the hobbit. There was really nowhere else for him to be.

“You understand why I wish for you to join us,” Gandalf stated without preamble as he peered at the hobbit. “You could be of great use to them, Bilbo. You could protect them if need be, when the situation might call for it. There are not many in this world anymore who have had interactions with dragons let alone have an intimate understanding of them. You are quite a small fellow and this Quest needs a burglar. I have chosen you for it and for more than one purpose. You have a large role yet to play in this world.”

Bilbo pursed his lips tight before he huffed. “You hardly know that for certain,” he commented, shooting the stink-eye at the wizard. “I’ve told you, Gandalf, I want nothing to do with this. The Road will always be dangerous and Erebor is a very long way from here. I’m doing well here, in Bag End; I would have to say you’ll need to find another hobbit for this. Or, _perhaps,_ another of my _kin_ that you’ve helped settle into this world.”

Gandalf waved his arm dismissively, a dark scowl taking over his face. “They are hardly as agreeable as you, my dear boy, and I think you know that well,” he said, sounding as if he may have regretted giving those particular dragon-kind a second chance. “Unpleasant even in different forms and far more firmly rooted where they are now. You expressed your desire for adventure long ago and you may have me believe those thoughts have fled you but when I visit, you speak fondly of all that you have seen in your time. You speak with a longing in your eyes that you cannot hide from me, Bilbo Baggins, and I am offering you a chance to see it fulfilled.” The hobbit groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I hardly feel any _longing_ ,” he whined, voice muffled but still despondent. “Yes, _yes_ , some days I miss flying. Some days I miss seeing the world in such a way and I think that’s a perfectly normal thing to feel! I miss my old friends but I won’t try to raise them from the dead for it! Gandalf, I truly don’t wish for anymore adventure in my life, I’ve had quite enough of it, I’ve seen far too much terror. I don’t wish to see anymore and I feel as if they are going to their deaths; I’d rather not _witness_ it.”

“The ways of the world are beginning to change again,” Gandalf declared, his bushy eyebrows flying upward. “You may not have felt it but I assure you that dragon has. A darkness is forming once again in the East and I fear what may happen if it gains power! If a new enemy were to come, its eyes would be set on finding allies - Erebor offers one. As you are aware, it is easy to sway a dragon with the promise of battles, riches, and lands to rule. Smaug would again join forces with evil if he is offered the chance and he would allow that Mountain to fall into their hands. It has a strategic position with Mirkwood to its West and the Iron Hills to its East. And you know what lies South! We cannot allow Erebor to sit quiet any longer.”

Bilbo gaped at him, raising his hands toward the wizard before he dropped them helplessly to his lap. “What _enemy_ do you think is coming, Gandalf? You sound very certain. The enemy of old is long gone, what do you fear is coming?” he asked in disbelief. “Who would be so powerful to sway Smaug in that sort of way?”

“I do not yet know,” Gandalf admitted. “But it is something I am working to learn. The rumors alone were enough to give me interest but when I ventured to the East, it was simple enough to see and feel for myself the truth of it. Something is coming and I fear it, Bilbo. That dragon needs to be slain and Erebor needs to have its king as the greatest dwarven realm on Middle Earth! That Mountain will strengthen ties between the dwarf lords of this world and should Thorin ever have need to call upon them, their armies will answer. I hope to never see that come to pass. I hope only for the dwarves of Erebor to find their home once more in this Quest and to eliminate that dragon for good; that is what I wish for but wishes are not always granted.”

The hobbit grumbled out his agreement at _that_ understatement and turned his glum gaze to his fire. “Yes, well,” he managed, giving a quick shake of his head. “I hope none of that happens, as well, I truly do. I find it hard to believe such a powerful enemy could be lurking about but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? I can’t worry myself over this, Gandalf, I can’t. Erebor is a very long distance from here and whatever peril that place holds won’t touch the Shire. I will worry if I have to some day but this isn’t any of my business. I’m _not_ your hobbit.”

Gandalf squinted at him, attempting to make him squirm, but Bilbo just picked up a scone and munched on it with exaggeration. The wizard finally muttered what were no doubt terribly unflattering things about himself and got to his feet, looking down his nose at the hobbit. After a good long moment, he harrumphed, shaking his head and waving dismissively.

“We shall see. Come morning, Bilbo Baggins, we shall see,” he announced and turned with a whirl of grey robes, stalking to Bilbo’s door, pushing it open.

“Watch your head,” Bilbo called after him, smiling when he heard the wizard mumble ‘hobbits’ under his breath. When he ducked out of the room, Bilbo was sure he had left his door open on purpose like a petty tween and sighed, hopping to his feet. He pushed the door closed with a pointed bang, locking it and making his way to his bed. The hobbit collapsed onto it, looking at his ceiling and watching the shadows cast by his fireplace dance above him.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there but when a deep-timbred voice began to sing about a wish for an old home and memories of the day Smaug came, he could admit his heart ached for the dwarves - he could also admit that Thorin Oakenshield’s voice might persuade many to do as he wished; but Bilbo was dragon-kind deep down and he did what he bloody well wanted.

——

When Bilbo ran through the Shire the next morning, spurred on by madness and exhilaration at the thought of another adventure, he left the worst of his doubts in Bag End and threw all caution to the wind.

Though, when Fili and Kili bodily tossed him onto the saddle of a pony for the first time in his life and he clung for dear life to its mane, he lamented that in some way, Thorin Oakenshield was right to doubt him for his lack of experience in the Wild - as a hobbit, at any rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha you all thought I'd be updating Mr. Baggins, didn't you! Ha ha ahhaaa ha -gross sobbing-
> 
> This one was stuck in my head for a while and I had to write it. Got it all planned out and everything. Save me. I honestly have about five? five, eight, ten stories I'm working on, who knows anymore! Anyway, this won't be an in depth retelling, most will just be glossed over, minus the important bits. Bilbo Draggins, yes! I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> I'm also drawing an image for this story, it's gonna be a line art. Smaug is a huge pain in the ass to draw. Have a WIP: [Smaug vs. Bilbo](http://i.imgur.com/h8kYnrw.png%20)
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	2. Chapter 2

There was something not quite right with Fili and Kili, Bilbo determined as he hastened to follow them to hide behind a tree that had very recently been uprooted and was now lying on the forest floor. A simple task of bringing the two their supper was turning into a situation he deemed Very Bad indeed. They had lost ponies - what in Eru’s name had they been doing to fail at the one duty they had been given that evening?!

“Trolls,” Kili hissed and Bilbo’s eyes widened.

“Trolls?” he repeated with a squeak before he heard the footfalls of a very large being indeed, whirling around. Yes, _trolls_. The hobbit ducked down again and peered over the tree to watch the horrid creature stomp off with two more of their ponies. He gaped after it before he turned to look at the brothers. “What do we do? They’ve got four now!”

“As our burglar, we thought you might want to do something about it. Look, they’ve got the ponies in a pen,” Fili whispered, pointing to where the poor beasts were rearing and whinnying with fright as the troll deposited the two he was carrying. “You can sneak in and cut them loose - don’t worry, we’ll be right behind you if anything is to go wrong.” He attempted to usher the hobbit away but Bilbo planted his feet firmly on the ground.

He squinted at the dwarf. “If anything is to go wrong. Hmm,” he hummed sarcastically, “I wonder what could _possibly_ go wrong with that absolutely _terrible_ idea. You two may be frightened of Thorin but I am not and he needs to be told of this, you ridiculous _buffoons!_ I’m not risking my life because you two were buggering off somewhere you shouldn’t have been! _Stay_ here, keep _quiet_ , and I’m going to fetch the rest of the Company. Do nothing foolish!” He waggled his finger under the blond’s nose as he opened his mouth to protest, his blue eyes wide with fear - not because of the _trolls_ but because of his blasted _king_.

Bilbo turned on his heel, dodging Kili’s flailing hands as the dwarf reached for him, trotting silently forward before he paused. He turned back to the dwarves. “Oh, and if they try to eat one of them, why don’t _you_ two sneak in there and rescue them? What? Seem a _mite_ ridiculous?” he hissed when the brothers glanced sidelong at each other with worry. The hobbit quickly made his way through the trees until he deemed it safe for an all out run and sprinted his way back to the camp. _Dwarves!_

They would be the end of him and they were only a very short way through their journey! He had never been around such uncivilized individuals! Not as a hobbit!

He burst through the tree line quite before he expected to and skidded to a halt, bending over and placing his hands on his knees as he panted. The dwarves who were awake whirled around to look at him and immediately leapt to their feet at the state of him. Thorin was marching his way before he could even open his mouth and the hobbit waved his hand behind him.

“Trolls. There are three trolls and they’ve taken four of the ponies,” he managed to pant out. At the sudden cries and flurry of movement as the dwarves began to fetch their weapons, Thorin stepped closer and clamped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing far more tightly than was surely necessary. But Bilbo knew his worry. “They’re _fine_ , hiding like the cowards they are! I’ve come to fetch you and they are hopefully still keeping only a watch on the blasted situation!”

Thorin turned and barked out a harsh order in Khuzdul, thankfully quieting the Company down lest they attract the attention of the trolls themselves. His eyes flickered to Dwalin and at the jerk of his head, the brute nodded and pointed at Gloin, Oin, Dori, and Nori. The king looked back to Bilbo and arched his eyebrows.

“Lead them, we will follow,” he said and was gone before Bilbo could blink. The hobbit swallowed down his whine and made a quick trip to his own pack, grabbing the bow he hadn’t used in _years_ but foolishly brought along, slinging the quiver of small arrows onto his back. He had made them while they traveled, which was no easy task, especially when _dwarves_ decided to inspect every inch of his work. The only one who seemed to appreciate it was Kili and Bilbo was having a hard time shaking himself of the young dwarf.

The hobbit glared at Dwalin as he waved him on impatiently and ran past him into the woods once more, leading them on to where the brothers were hiding. He found himself surprised that the dwarves were capable of remaining fairly quiet when they apparently wished to and thanked Eru for such a thing. Bilbo slowed his pace and ducked when he began to hear the rumbling of trolls, one of them squealing in what sounded like pain and the ponies whinnying all the more for it. He scowled as he saw Fili and Kili were no longer where he had left them but before he could inform the others, he spotted a blond head much closer to the edge of the clearing than it should have been.

Dwalin came to his side when he thrust his finger forward and peered through the trees, giving one nod of his head. “Find a tree and we’ll see how well you can handle that bow of yours, burglar,” he growled out before he turned to the others and began to sign in the way the hobbit had seen Bifur doing. The dwarves spread out and Bilbo caught movement further East than they were, recognizing Bofur’s hat even in the dark and knew Thorin was having his group surround the trolls’ camp.

Which was well and good and all. But climbing a tree and pelting trolls with arrows was not what he had in mind and he groaned to himself as the dwarves closed in on the camp, hurrying along behind them. He joined Kili and exchanged a glance with the dwarf, whose eyes widened with far too much glee when he saw Bilbo’s bow and he pointed upward with two fingers. The hobbit raised his eyes and inspected the half-dead chestnut tree they were below before he gave a nod, moving behind it and looking for grooves in which he could grasp; he began to climb.

Bilbo chose a branch that was covered with just enough leaves to hide himself and perched on it, lifting his bow and sliding an arrow carefully out of his quiver. He held it against the string without drawing it quite yet and looked below for signs of the dwarves. The only one visible to him anymore was Kili and the dwarf glanced up at him as he drew his own arrow, offering a _wink_ that had Bilbo scowling. He turned his gaze back to the trolls, wrinkling his nose in distaste as they spoke of truly atrocious seasonings to be had with pony meat; though he suspected simply knowing what seasonings were was a feat by itself.

He blinked as a stone the size of an orange sailed through the air from the trees Northeast of him - it seemed to move in slow motion to the hobbit’s eyes until it connected with the back of one of the trolls’ head. The particularly nasally one, Bilbo thought, who shrieked and reached a large hand up to bat at the back of his head.

“Wha’ is it?” the chef of the trio demanded in an all-suffering sort of way but before he could get an answer, another stone connected with his temple. The trolls as one turned toward the tree line with snarls and Bilbo attempted to not fall out of his tree as the sudden battle cries of numerous dwarves sounded and the lot of them burst through the clearing. The chaos of it was something the hobbit had not witnessed in a very long time and he found himself mesmerized by the sight as all manner of dwarven weapons were thrust through the air, connecting with the trolls as they struggled to their feet. The branch below Bilbo trembled as the massive creatures began to fight off the dwarves with a ferocity that had his heart beating painfully in his chest and echoing in his ears. He drew back the readied arrow as one of the trolls got its hand around Nori’s leg and yanked him into the air - he let it loose and found himself momentarily stunned when it connected with a bleeding knuckle.

The size of the arrow only caused a sting but it was enough for the troll to yowl and drop the dwarf. Bilbo rolled his shoulders and drew another arrow, beginning to loose them as quickly as he could when he found a vantage point to do so. The dwarves were aiming for their hands, wrists, and legs it seemed, so Bilbo aimed for their ugly faces - if he could get an eye, that troll would be easy pickings for the rest of the Company.

Ori was the next to be snatched up and an arrow from both Kili and Bilbo connected to that troll’s hand. The hobbit grinned in triumph but it was short lived as he reached back for another arrow at the same moment a hand reached for _him_. He squawked as a hot, scaly troll hand wrapped around him and yanked him from the tree, effectively losing him his bow and smashing his quiver against his back. Bilbo yelped at the pain of it but cringed when a gust of warm, moist, and absolutely foul breath hit him in the face, swinging his gaze to the troll holding him. He was grinning at his apparent prize and squeezed the hobbit tight enough that Bilbo feared he may crack his ribs.

“Thought I wouldn’t see where yer arrows were comin’ from, ye li’l ferret?” he growled before he turned and held the hobbit in the air. Bilbo’s eyes widened when the biggest of the trolls noticed and with a blood-stained grin, charged toward them, dwarves dodging the thundering footsteps. And when another hand reached out, the hobbit was briefly covered as he was shifted around and when he saw the light cast by the fire again, the trolls had his arms and legs grasped in one hand each. Bilbo’s stomach dropped to his feet as he realized what they were threatening him with and when Kili cried his name, the troll who had nabbed him from his branch cried, “Lay down yer arms! Or we’ll rip his off!”

The dwarves had frozen when they heard Kili’s shout and for a moment Bilbo wondered if Thorin might consider him worthy of collateral damage. Apparently the dwarf did not and when he threw down his sword, the hobbit felt relief flood though him. It didn’t last long as he was jostled around, the trolls beginning to bark orders while simultaneously arguing on roasting them over the fire or in a stew - they seemed to decide on both and the troll with the long, thin blade held the dwarves at bay while, apparently _Tom_ and _Bert_ , argued on who would fetch the ‘sacks.’ Bilbo and the dwarves didn’t get to find out what those sacks were meant for.

An unnatural white light flooded the camp with the force of a windstorm and the sound of a cracked whip - Bilbo screamed in pain in the middle of it as the trolls swayed on their feet, one of them wrenching his shoulder enough that he felt an odd pop. He was dropped unceremoniously to the ground as a booming, familiar voice ordered the dwarves to once again pick up arms - Gandalf had come back. In the confusion and as the trolls stared at the newcomer, the Company did just that and lunged for their weapons as the wizard charged forward, staff in one hand and sword in the other.

The hobbit felt someone pull him to his feet and had to refrain from lashing out when they favored his left arm, which happened to be the one with a dislocated shoulder. The dwarf was Fili and his eyes were wide as he took in the state of the hobbit before his hand found Bilbo’s back and he led him at a jog away from the camp.

“Stay here, Bilbo!” the blond called once he deemed the hobbit safe and charged back into the fray himself. Bilbo watched from where he was leaning heavily into a tree as, with the help of Gandalf, one troll lost most use of his right leg and gave a truly frightening and almighty roar for it. The dwarves seemed to find a newfound energy and as the three beasts began to visibly wear, the wizard jumped onto the massive boulder overlooking the camp and his resounding voice declared the dawn would take them. With a great amount of strength, Gandalf drove his staff into the rock and Bilbo watched with wonder as it cracked in half, a flood of rising sun bathing them all in blue-orange light. The trolls snarled and moaned as their skin cracked, crumbling the way rock did when breaking; but it was forming and Bilbo stared as they turned to stone before his very eyes. He hardly had a moment to process it - had he ever known that was possible? He certainly did not remember such a thing!

“Where is he? Where is our hobbit?” the wizard barked before he even descended from the boulder and Bilbo began to hobble back to camp, holding his left forearm gingerly as he did so. Fili rushed to him and was immediately followed by most of the Company even as Gandalf shouted, “Away from him, you fools! All of you but Oin! I do believe Bilbo has an injury that needs tending to.”

If he was expecting dwarves to forget their curiosity, he was sadly mistaken and it took Oin and him both to shoo them away enough to begin poking at him. Bilbo appreciated that far less than his friends worrying over him.

“It’s my shoulder!” he cried as he watched a large dwarf paw begin to reach for it. “It’s been dislocated. Nasty business and if someone could put it back into place, I’d be very grateful, very grateful indeed.” He winced in pain, looking helplessly up at Oin as the dwarf narrowed his eyes at him.

“Someone bring me a dagger, afraid mine was lost in the fray,” he barked as his trumpet also seemed to have been lost. Bilbo blanched.

“What on _earth_ do you need a dagger for?” he squeaked, backing up two paces before a hand at his back stopped him. The hobbit swung his gaze up and met Thorin’s eyes, unimpressed and angry, _of_ _course_. He didn’t seem to be able to do anything right by the blasted dwarf. Bilbo looked back at Oin and shook his head as much as he dared. “If you are intending to cut my clothing, I would say no and thank you, it can be done without that. I only brought one other pair with me and I don’t think I’ll find a tailor anytime soon!”

Oin grumbled as he moved closer to him and glowered. “You will let us do what we have to to set you straight or you will find this more unpleasant than it needs to be!” he shouted, planting his hands on his hips and looking all the more intimidating for it. “It’s best I have an eye on it when it’s set back into place, laddie, come along.” He gestured for the hobbit to follow and Thorin nudged him forward. Bilbo whined as he followed at a sedate pace to a stump near the pony pen - Oin thrust his finger at it and the hobbit sank down onto it with a scowl.

“I blame you two, I hope you know,” Bilbo called as he saw Fili and Kili craning their necks to look at him. They both immediately shrank back as their faces flushed and they inched away, looking properly ashamed. The hobbit didn’t miss Thorin turn a dark glare on them and felt his heart clench, unable to help some small amount of pity. Small enough that he chose not to rescue them, anyway. And he was rather distracted when Oin came at his clothing with a dagger - he would certainly not cry but it felt much like losing a friend as he cut his favorite maroon waistcoat. It wasn’t long before the dwarf was surveying his fiercely aching shoulder and peering around at the dwarves, looking for who-knew-what when Thorin stepped forward.

“Suppose you know the feeling, lad,” Oin said with a grin at the king, whose mouth twisted at the apparent unpleasant memory of his own shoulder dislocation. “Here, take it and bite down, laddie, this will hurt.” The dwarf wound the torn material of his clothing into a thick rope and handed it to the hobbit.

Bilbo opened his mouth to tell them he bloody well knew it would hurt because he had _also_ gone through it before but Gandalf loomed over Oin and gave a discreet shake of his head. _Right_. That was shortly after that whole turning-into-a-hobbit business and when the wizard had been tending to his many injuries. He simply grumbled to himself as he stuck the remains of his waistcoat into his mouth and dug his teeth into it. As he clamped his eyes shut tight, rather wishing he didn’t have an entire audience of dwarves, Thorin’s warm hands encircled his forearm and elbow and Oin’s moved to his shoulder.

They didn’t give him any proper countdown or warning before Oin grasped his joint and quite easily shoved it right back into place with a sickening pop. Bilbo cried out more at the still _entirely_ strange feeling than at any pain given the immense amount of relief that moved through his shoulder. The tight tension eased and instead of the sharp prickling, it became an instantly dull ache and the hobbit spat out his waistcoat, opening his eyes and peering down at his righted shoulder. Bilbo huffed out a sigh, wrinkling his nose and glancing up at the healer, blinking away the tears that had sprung to his eyelashes.

“Thank you,” he managed to wheeze out and Oin chuckled, shaking his head.

“Hobbits have thicker skin than we imagined! And a right good shot, as well, don’t think we didn’t see you with your wee bow,” he declared with a proud, grandfatherly sort of smile. “Up you get! Let’s get you back to camp for a fresh set of clothing and a bit of tonic for the pain!”

“What did I tell you? More to hobbits than meets the eye,” Gandalf said with his own twinkling smile. “Or, at the very least, our own hobbit.”

Bilbo felt heat gathering over his cheeks and huffed, moving to his feet and glancing sidelong at Thorin. The dwarf was eyeing him as if he hadn’t ever seen him before but when he noticed the hobbit’s eyes on him, he hastily turned away and shot a glare at Gandalf. Bilbo might have laughed but Oin was impatiently gesturing for him to follow and he hastened to do so - a tonic would be gladly welcomed. He had to skip now and then to keep up with the grey-haired dwarf as he led him with purpose through the trees and back to their camp.

The healer fixed him up with a tonic quick and Bilbo took it without complaint, simply shutting one eye at the unpleasantness of its taste. He thanked Oin and allowed him to help rid him of the rest of his useless clothing - though he would certainly be keeping the materials! As the dwarf mumbled about his lack of armor, Bilbo startled at a choked gasp and looked up to see Kili staring in horror at him. He blinked twice.

“ _Mahal_ ,” the dwarf groaned, rushing toward him, eyes stuck on his belly. Bilbo felt indignation rise before his mind caught up and he realized what Kili had seen. “Bilbo! Look at you! Why didn’t you _tell_ us you’ve been in battles before? Look at that, it looks like a spear!” He pointed at the large diamond-shaped scar on his belly - the hobbit had long been used to it and in the Shire he didn’t have to worry about it being seen.

Bilbo sputtered. “Battles!” he repeated, scandalized. “I haven’t been in any battles, this was an accident from many years ago! W-Well, all of them are!” He scowled as Kili gestured grandly at the rest of him - he was rather littered in scars, though most were minor compared to the massive arrow that had pierced him. He _did_ have dragon hide once upon a time! “I was in a terrible accident, ah, with a, um, cart. Holding, er, I do believe it was materials to expand on the Town Hall, you see. Lumber and metal and the like, a very odd set of circumstances, I have to admit, but yes, all water under the bridge now, so to speak.” He rocked forward on his toes, swallowing as Kili furrowed his brow in bemusement. When the dwarf poked his belly, Bilbo slapped his hand away with an indignant scoff.

“You got into an accident with a cart and _skewered_ yourself?” Kili moaned in despair. “I would’ve given you up if I’d seen those injuries. There must’ve been lots of blood, I can’t even imagine it. Do hobbits have excellent healers in the Shire? How long did it take to heal? Fee had a nice gash on his thigh and that took ages, I can’t imagine anything to the stom-“

“Kili!” Oin finally decided to put a stop to the dwarf’s rambling, pushing him aside. “Let the lad be and keep your nose in your own business! And business I believe you have!” The healer arched a meaningful eyebrow, tilting his head forward, and Kili’s shoulders hunched as he gave a hard swallow. He seemed to sense Thorin had come to loom behind him.

The king had been lurking at the edge of the camp but apparently didn’t appreciate Kili’s interrogation either. “Fetch your brother,” Thorin said in a low tone that held no distinct emotion. It was quite frightening and the young dwarf winced, turning and trotting away. The king turned his gaze back to Bilbo, eyes sweeping along his person, pausing on the scar on his belly before he met his eyes again. “Do you know what they were doing that led them to losing the ponies?”

Bilbo frowned. He had witnessed a few lectures and the boys never fared well after them - a large part of him wanted Thorin to have at it because his _shoulder had been dislocated_ but another part of him was growing traitorously fond of the two and he knew they were young yet. He looked after where Kili had disappeared through the trees before he shrugged, immediately regretting the action. The hobbit hissed, touching lightly at his shoulder, smartly shaking his head instead.

“No. I mean, they were there and attempting to find the first missing two when I arrived. We barely moved away and a troll somehow managed to nab two more - oddly quiet when they wish to be, I think,” Bilbo said, rocking forward on his toes and raising his eyebrows. “The lads didn’t seem as if they might have been distracted too horribly. It was supper time and they were probably restless, I know I would be! I’m sure they just wanted to scout the surrounding area.”

Thorin looked as if he knew precisely what Bilbo was attempting to do and was none-too-impressed with it. “Hunger and restlessness are no excuse for leaving their duties. We could have lost the ponies or our own lives because of their _boredom_ ,” he said with no small amount of venom. “They are the reason for your injury. I will speak to my nephews on it. You did well, Master Baggins.” The king gave him another once-over before he turned and stalked off toward the trees after his _nephew_.

Bilbo gaped after him. “Nephews?” he squeaked, whirling around to look at Oin. “Why did I not know they were his _nephews?_ He’s their _uncle?_ Oh dear! I hadn’t a clue! They’ve never referred to him in such a way! Did _you_ know? Oh, don’t listen to me, stupid question.” He grumbled to himself, fighting a blush and losing the battle. Thorin had complimented him! He looked furious while he did so but he still _did!_ “Goodness! I never thought I’d see the day!”

“He’s not lost his way, he’s gone to give those nephews of his a good talking to,” Oin barked back at him and Bilbo blinked dumbly before he huffed out a laugh, turning away again. Blasted _dwarves_.

The hobbit made his way to his pack and began to pull his second and final set of clothes out, carefully dressing himself before any of the other dwarves returned and got an eyeful of him. He felt as if rumor would spread, either way, and knew he would have to be even more cautious when washing himself on the Road! Dwarves were terribly nosy, even compared to hobbits, though they were far less subtle about it.

When Bilbo heard hoarse shouts of Khuzdul carry through the trees as he was lamenting the loss of his quiver, he decided that he would ask Fili and Kili to help him with a new one; he did still feel badly for them, after all.

——

The Company did not have much time to relax - Bilbo was called upon by Gandalf and as he had been handed a small elvish sword, they were interrupted by Radagast, orcs, and wargs. He was sure his day couldn’t get any worse than it already had been but the early morning seemed to want to prove him wrong.

He had plenty of dealings with orcs quite a long while ago, thank you, and they were just as vile as he remembered. At least he was the only one in their group of fourteen to know he had _ingested_ them - of course those thoughts did nothing for him, really, as he found himself racing across open fields. Surrounded by an orc pack was not his cup of tea but a swift rescue by Gandalf and elves fixed that up nice and quick before Bilbo finally found himself in Rivendell.

The hobbit had been once before, when he and Gandalf had been traveling across Middle Earth on their way to the Shire. He had still been getting used to _being_ a hobbit and the stay with the elves had been rocky at best. Trust came slowly even as they aided him, ensuring his health and helping to heal the wounds that hadn’t been given any time to actually close up properly. When the wizard had swept him away from the war-riddled East, he was half-dead and they had no opportunity in those accursed lands to patch him up - in the Misty Mountains a wound across the back of his thigh had even begun to fester.

In Rivendell, he had been more dragon than hobbit still and he supposed he couldn’t really blame the elves for their mistrust. His odd muscle spasms and twitches might get on anyone’s nerves but looking for a tail and wings that weren’t there had led to some awkward moments in his own skin. Bilbo’s disposition had also been slightly grumpy in that he most certainly would have bitten off heads if he had the jaws for it still! But as his unease began to lessen and his wounds began to heal, Bilbo had found himself a few friends; given the dwarves’ reaction to Lord Elrond’s arrival in his own blasted city, he was glad they were none the wiser.

Lord Elrond hadn’t caught sight of the hobbit, he thought, when he dismounted his horse and embraced Gandalf but Bilbo didn’t miss the wizard’s eyes dart to him as he spoke in quiet tones of Sindarin. The elf lord inclined his head before he turned to the dwarves and was promptly insulted numerous times - it pained the hobbit’s manners more than he could say and he wished to give them all a good kick in the shin. Were they truly so foolish? That king of theirs certainly was! He had, by his own bloody admission, never even _met_ Lord Elrond.

Bilbo grumbled as he hastened to follow the elven guard and dwarves to a lovely dining setting where they were served good greens, vegetables, and fruits, paired with an earthy red wine he was immediately fond of. Lord Elrond treated him with politeness, his quirked brow of amusement the only sign he knew something strange was taking place; Bilbo knew he would be questioned the moment he was free.

When the dwarves began a food fight and the hobbit fled to keep his wine from certain doom, it seemed to be good enough time for it. Bilbo cursed his ridiculous traveling companions as he stalked off to a balcony, plopped down on a bench, swung his legs and sipped at his wine. He might as well take advantage of the view before Thorin no doubt corralled them all into a hole for the evening and didn’t let any out of sight. Certainly his foes would be plotting to murder them all.

“I did not think I would find you in Rivendell so soon again, Bilbo Baggins,” a familiar voice said and the hobbit twisted around to look at Lord Elrond as he approached. Bilbo chuckled at the elf’s genial smile.

“So soon,” he repeated. “Yes, I suppose it hasn’t been as long as it could have been, eh? Sorry about that lot. Did you know that’s actually the second time I’ve had to dodge food being thrown about while they were guests at someone’s home? Of course it was _my_ home the first time and I was as thrilled with it as you clearly were.”

Lord Elrond moved forward to lean against the carved stone railing and observed the hobbit with a critical eye. “The way of dwarves is slow to change,” he said, clasping his hands together and arching a brow. “Much the same could be said of hobbits and yet here you are. I asked Gandalf of how you fared when he was here some time ago and he assured me you were quite at home. A hobbit indeed, I believe were his words.”

Bilbo huffed, shrugging a shoulder. “That I am! A most proper one, too, and quite happy to be. I’ve had it up to my neck with those dwarves! They lost me my favorite pipe in an ill planned prank and dislocated my shoulder just this morning. Nasty business,” he informed the elf, waggling his finger. “I regret running out of my door most mornings when I wake to see excessively large noses and thickets of hair every which way I look.”

The elf’s mouth twisted in amusement as he rested one elbow on the stone behind him. “And why are you traveling with them?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “What purpose do you have with Thorin Oakenshield’s Company?”

“I would tell you if I thought Thorin wouldn’t skin me for such a thing,” Bilbo replied, shooting the elf a knowing look. “You won’t weasel anything out of me. You’ll simply have to ask that menace of a wizard and the ball of unpleasantness that is that dwarf. I’m sure you’ll get the chance soon enough, actually, Gandalf has been attempting to sway his royal behind into speaking with you. I wish you the best of luck, he’s been particularly angry today.”

“Is he responsible for your injuries?” Lord Elrond asked, clearly knowing the dwarf was not. “Or was it the fault of the trolls you came across just this morning? I have not seen trolls South of the Mountains in an age.” Bilbo nodded in agreement.

“Nor have I. They smelled just as badly as I remember, though,” he said with a dry smile. The elf returned it and moved to sit next to him, peering down at the hobbit curiously. Bilbo shook his head. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for. I honestly don’t know why I’m here most days but I did say I would help if I can. And you must not tell Gandalf, but I know I owe him.” He swiveled his head back and forth to make sure no spies were about as he leaned closer. “We must not give him the satisfaction of it though I will consider us even after this little trek. I already miss my armchair quite a lot, you know.”

“Hobbits enjoy the comforts of home,” Lord Elrond said in agreement. “You are welcome here, Bilbo, if you should ever find yourself looking for such comforts. I am not certain why you are traveling with Thorin Oakenshield but it is not difficult to ascertain reasons why you might be. If I find myself correct in any of those reasons, you know I would advise caution. The line of Durin is known to be… difficult.”

Bilbo snorted. “That is the understatement of this century,” he sniffed. “I include those nephews of his in that. You said you knew Thror, yes? I believe it was Dain I that ruled in the Grey Mountains during the War that nearly cost me my life. Gandalf said Durin’s Folk fled back to the Lonely Mountain after that but before the War I never had many dealings with dwarves except, ah, well. You know. Proximity to the Wastes and Withered Heath and all. Oh goodness, ignore that; what I mean to ask is, was Thror as they say? Lost to the madness of his hoard?” Even he was rather mortified at the idea of what he had done in his time.

Lord Elrond politely moved past his ramblings. “He was,” he agreed with a slow nod. “Greed overtook him and you know what that summoned. There is a madness that lies in Durin’s people, including Thorin’s father: Thrain. It has been said by some that the East has fared better without dwarves in Erebor. A madness that infected the Mountain or a dragon that took it with the cost of death and despair. It is surprising that some would choose the latter over the former but they viewed it as something just as dangerous. Thror no longer cared for his people; only his gold. The dragon separated him from his prized treasures.”

The hobbit wrinkled his nose, swinging his legs and mumbling to himself in thought. Madness caused by a hoard of treasure that wasn’t even affected by a dragon - Thrain driven mad many years later by the loss of his own father. A very strong conviction in Thorin to retake Erebor with thirteen companions and a wizard. Bilbo himself called _that_ madness. What would the dwarf king do when they reached the Mountain and he stood face to face with the dragon that had caused him so much suffering? Being of dragon-kind, Bilbo could say for certain what _Smaug_ would do and he wondered if Thorin would be able to withstand it.

“Well,” he said, huffing out a sigh before he decided to take a healthy gulp of wine. He brushed his mouth off with the back of his hand and glanced sidelong at the elf. “Well. Let me ask you a question, purely hypothetical, of course. If Thorin were to, ah, come across anything that might have affected his grandfather in the past, how do you think he would fare with it? Do you think gold sickness might run through his veins?”

“One might say there is a high probability of it. If he were to come across the amount of gold there is in Erebor that had been beneath a _dragon_ for many long years I would say it unwise to even allow the possibility of it. You are familiar with dragon-induced madness and I fear that it, along with gold sickness, may drown someone such as Thorin Oakenshield. I doubt the ability of most to save him, if such a thing were to happen; very few remaining in this world have personal experience in those matters.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows innocently as the elf gave him a _look_ , one that clearly said he knew precisely what was happening but was far too kind to say anything about it if none wanted to speak on it. Yes, the dragon-turned-hobbit certainly had _personal_ knowledge of how gold sickness _and_ dragon madness affected someone. Gandalf wanted Bilbo along on this Quest for his knowledge of dragons, of course, and his potential to help when it came to dealing with one. Perhaps that included sniffing out any potential signs of illness - though the hobbit had to admit _any_ of the blasted dwarves could fall for it. They _were_ easily swayed by gold.

“I suppose it’s a good thing this is all hypothetical then, hmm?” he veered, smiling as the elf arched a high brow at him. “Let’s hope that our own journey continues to be so peaceful and that not one thing ever goes wrong on it.” Bilbo chuckled, finishing off his wine, holding his goblet in his lap. “Do you elves still deal in those wonderfully hot, rose-scented baths?”

Lord Elrond sighed in defeat, smiling down at the hobbit. “We do, Master Hobbit, and you have more than one bath in the house we are currently preparing for you,” he replied. At Bilbo’s interested hum, the elf stood and gestured for the hobbit to follow. “Come. I will show you the way. You seem to be done with your meal this afternoon.”

Bilbo hopped off the bench, scoffing. “I could have tolerated a bit more food, thank you! I’m simply done with that lot for the day. Like children they are, tossing food about, making a mess. Waste not, I say! And after the weeks we’ve had, even, with such lackluster food, it makes me _sick_ , it truly does. Do you know, I’ve never actually seen Thorin encourage that sort of behavior? Oh how I wished to put him in his place; he knew what he was doing and the _nerve_ of him! I should like to sit at his table as a welcomed guest and make a ruckus simply to annoy him and _assert_ myself. He was _strutting,_ ” he grumbled, waggling his finger through the air as he walked alongside the elf. “Like a, a- well, I don’t know what!”

“ _A peacock_ ,” Lord Elrond supplied in his mother tongue, glancing down at the hobbit with a quirk to his lips. Bilbo blinked twice before he began to laugh.

“ _Yes. Yes, I think that is accurate enough,_ ” Bilbo replied in only slightly rusty Sindarin, grinning. “ _Though his plumage could use some work, I think. Entirely unimpressive in a place such as this and not likely to gather any positive attention except from his own brood._ ”

The elf chuckled. “You have studied our language well,” he praised. “Have you had the opportunity before now to put it to any other use beyond on paper?”

“I have actually!” Bilbo announced with pride. “I am happy to say that I have had exactly _four_ run-ins with elves and they were most impressed, believe you me. Charmed the boots right off of them-“

“Master Baggins,” a horribly familiar voice barked from some feet behind them. Bilbo felt his stomach swoop down toward his feet as he froze, swallowing down a whine - he had hoped to be free of them for a while yet. The hobbit and elf turned as one, looking toward Thorin as he stood near the steps that had led to the elves’ dining tables. And the dwarf king didn’t look pleased, of course.

Bilbo swallowed. “Yes?” he called, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking forward on his toes. “Lord Elrond is showing me to our guest house and I should very much-“

“A word,” Thorin interrupted as if he hadn’t been speaking at all, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. As terribly rude as it was and as much as Bilbo would have liked to scold him, when the dwarf was this prickly, it was simply best to do as he commanded. It spared him a headache, at any rate. The hobbit peered up at the elf from the corner of his eye and received an entirely unhelpful flat stare in return.

He hunched his shoulders. “Yes, alright,” he mumbled disdainfully to himself. “I haven’t any idea how long this will take, please don’t bother waiting. Suppose I’ll have to continue to wait even longer to relax my shoulder! Wouldn’t want me to be pain-free today, no indeed. Though I should like to speak with you again before we leave, my lord.”

Lord Elrond bowed his head. “ _Until then, my friend_ ,” he said kindly before he raised his gaze to Thorin. The dwarf stared back at him from under a heavy brow even after Bilbo waved and began to trot toward him - yes, ridiculous peacocking indeed! The hobbit was unable to help his eye-roll when it still took the king another moment of staring at the elf’s retreating back before he finally looked at _him_.

“You are familiar with elves,” Thorin stated - accused - without preamble. “You can speak their language. Why did you not inform us of this earlier?” He took the hobbit by the elbow and led him right back to the balcony he had just left, not knowing that was where they had been apparently. And he looked _paranoid_ as his eyes darted back and forth, looking for spies - he only needed a blasted mirror. “How have you had dealings with elves?”

Bilbo sighed, wiggling free of the king’s grasp, planting his hands on his hips. “There was absolutely no need to inform you I speak Sindarin,” he said firmly, squinting at the dwarf. “As I’m sure it only would have caused more distrust than there already _was_. Elves pass the borders of the Shire on occasion and I’ve come across them as they do - I happen to have a good tongue and their language _happens_ to be rather lovely. They were more than happy to teach me some and I went from there on my own. _Why?_ Lord Elrond was going to show me to our lodgings so I could take a hot bath, you know, I’d rather like to get some heat on my shoulder.”

Thorin was all but _glowering_ at him. “I would not have you separated from the Company while we are in this place,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the hobbit, crowding him. “We will be shown there shortly from what I understand and you will stay with us; I do not want you to speak with elves unless it necessary. They will try to learn of our purpose from you and stop us. The wizard is already pressing for a conversation with that elf lord and I doubt I will be able to convince him otherwise now that we are here.” He glanced once again in the direction Lord Elrond had gone and Bilbo used the opportunity to give his profile an incredulous look.

He held his hands out helplessly before dropping them again. “ _Thorin_. Goodness gracious, what do you take me for? I’m not going to speak with him on our purpose for traveling near here but I will _certainly_ not be forced to stay with you because of your own stubbornness! We won’t come to _harm_ here, either, for Eru’s sake. Lord Elrond is actually being a rather gracious host, you might want to learn a thing or two from him yourself,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes as Thorin’s lips thinned. “If that elf can read that map of yours and _no one_ _else_ in our Company can, I’d say let him have at it! You do realize Gandalf is on your side, yes?”

The dwarf’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth, a black scowl on his face. “Gandalf would have me put trust into my enemy-“

Bilbo groaned so loudly it echoed, cutting the king off as he dropped his head back, clamping his eyes shut tight. Save him from the stubbornness of _dwarves_ \- particularly _this_ one. When he looked back to Thorin, he was surprised he wasn’t already being strangled given it seemed the only thing the dwarf wanted to do at that moment. He sniffed.

“Gandalf already told you you don’t have enemies here. Lord Elrond is a very fair person! F-From what I understand, I mean! Gandalf has told me as much before, always willing to lend a helping hand if he can, you know. Perhaps you should at least _attempt_ civility if he can aid you, Thorin, and we can get out of here all the more _quickly_ for it. The more hostile you act, the more suspicious you seem; certainly you realize that much?”

The left side of Thorin’s nose twitched in his irritation. “It was not my choice to come here,” he said in a low, hushed tone, raising his eyebrows at the hobbit. “We were led here in secrecy for the wizard’s own gain. We could have found another way to read the map that did not involve _Rivendell_. I was civil enough with the elf when we spoke, I see not why I should trust him any further than I already have with our safety.”

Bilbo wanted to shake him. “Because he can _read that map_ \- oh, do you know what? Fine! Don’t trust him. Don’t show him the map, do nothing, just continue to glare and declare elves your enemy; we will get _very_ far on this Quest, very far indeed! I do hope you never need the aid of neighboring kingdoms in your time as king, you’d probably risk _dying_ over calling for an elf’s help - _if_ you actually sit on that throne at any rate! Which you probably _won’t_ because we will never read that map with anyone but _Lord Elrond,_ ” he hissed, waggling his finger under the dwarf’s nose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go ask for an escort to a hot bath, thank you very much!” The hobbit turned and stomped back toward the stairs, hoping Lindir was still hiding somewhere around the dining table.

He did not get far - Thorin’s hand clamped down on his upper arm in a vice-like grip. “I am aware that you heard the story of the day Smaug came,” he growled as Bilbo whirled around to glare at him. “You know that we asked for the _aid_ of neighboring kingdoms and you know they did _nothing_. The elves did not and will not ever help us in a time of need - we cannot allow them to try and stop us. If this elf lord were to send word to Mirkwood that dishonorable _inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublag_ that calls himself king will attempt to put a stake on jewels in the Mountain. He has already refused to help my people and I will not allow him to cause us further harm.”

The hobbit stared at the fool of a dwarf looming over him and tried to think of why he was even bothering helping him; he did know, of course, he simply didn’t know why he _cared_. The king’s pride and anger were faults that would get him killed if he kept going on like he was, Bilbo was certain of that. He felt his own nose twitch and nodded his head toward Thorin’s hand, raising his eyebrows expectantly; he was immediately let go.

“I can understand why you don’t necessarily trust in him when it comes to aiding you. He could have offered healers and shelter in the aftermath of Smaug but beyond that? I would have done the same bloody thing he did, I would have left that Mountain to rot because it had a _dragon_ in it. You would think after seeing the damage one can cause you would be a bit more understanding of why that elf king didn’t wish to send his people in after it! That you even _expected_ such a thing from his was foolish in and of itself, let alone that you are still holding a grudge over it; would you have sent _your_ army in to perish had the situation been reversed? I should think not! Dragons are not so easily trifled with and we must _take care_ \- we must take the help we can get so we can actually _do_ such a thing! Or would you like to be burned to a crisp the moment we get near Erebor? And that is only if he decides to not toy with us like a cat with a mouse!”

“You seem to believe you know much in the way of dragons,” Thorin retorted, a condescending smile twisting his lips. “You think that only with the aid of the elves we will avoid death? They have only _caused_ death for dwarves, Master Baggins, and perhaps if you were there that day you might think differently. There were enough forces between dwarves, Men, and _elves_ to defeat Smaug; my people would not have suffered in the way that they have and much would be different. Due to the decisions of their kind we were not _allowed_ even a reprieve. Why should I leave our fate in their hands once more?”

Bilbo could not help but stare at the king with contempt. “Because the fate of some requires the help of others in this life, Thorin Oakenshield. If you would like to leave your fate in the blind hope that you will be able to figure out that map before Erebor instead of ensuring your path by having a single elf read it, go on ahead. If you would like to remain such a fool you would risk the _failure_ of this Quest and the lives of your _people_ on it, do that, Thorin. There was a day when I only trusted my own hide, you know, and I can tell you it led to much peril for myself and others; I was glad to have someone come upon me unexpectedly and show me the value of friendship, trust, and the gains of throwing _pride_ away. Someone I never would have trusted until humility finally called for it. Humility is knocking on your door, you blasted _dwarf_ , I suggest _answering_ it.” He waved his finger at Thorin before he turned and stalked off once more. And if the king grabbed him again, he was sure no one would blame him for a well-placed punch to the nose.

Thankfully Thorin did not grab him again and in fact let him go without another word. The hobbit took advantage, hurrying to the nearest elf he could find, asking for directions to their lodgings; the elf maid was more than glad to show him and it was only moments later that he was shown a large, beautiful home. There were enough rooms that he suspected he might actually find a bit of privacy that evening - and an escape from horrible dwarven snoring. That would be more than welcome! Bilbo asked after a bath and before he could stop her, the elf maid went about showing him to a bathroom and preparing the lovely copper tub for him. He had to admit it was a _tad_ big for a hobbit and he thanked the elf before she showed herself out.

There were really no words for a hot bath in Rivendell; the water smelled strongly of roses and honey and had been infused with lavender oil. It cleaned and soothed his roughened skin from their travels and the honey went to work on his aching shoulder. The hobbit spent as much time as he could in the bath and only decided to leave it when he heard a throng of dwarves arrive - they sounded as if they may have gotten their hands on an additional barrel of wine or two when they had been at lunch. None came knocking, thank goodness, and he was able to dry and dress in peace. He had a very strange feeling the dwarves would _not_ be participating in baths while in Rivendell and he was entirely grateful to not be forced to sleep near them.

As the hobbit poked his head out of the bathroom, he swept his gaze up and down along the bright hall, letting out a huff of relief when he didn’t see one dwarf. He hurried out and began to nose around the home, avoiding where the Company’s voices were the loudest - that seemed to be the balcony. Bilbo moved along the second floor of the home and entered what seemed to be the smallest room he could find. Hopefully it would ensure his privacy even further! He went about dropping his belongings on the bed, hopping onto it himself, and began sorting through his pack. If Lord Elrond allowed, he would see to restocking some of his own herbs and materials in which to patch up his clothing.

“Master Burglar.”

Eru save him, it was _that_ voice again. Bilbo snapped his head up, looking at Thorin standing in the doorway and immediately slumped back against the headboard behind him, not caring at all about the moan of despair that left his throat. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his palms into them, rubbing slow circles in an attempt to stave off a headache. He heard a huff of a sigh and shuffling as the dwarf moved further into his room. When Bilbo found himself able, he lifted one of his hands and peered at the king - he was leaning against the wall near the window with his arms crossed over his chest and was raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the hobbit’s dramatics.

“Please, _please_ , Thorin, I kindly ask you to leave me be. I am taking stock of my belongings,” Bilbo pleaded, gesturing at his pack. “I am not in the mood to continue our _conversation_ from earlier, thank you, and I’d really like to take the rest of the day to relax until I’m not able to again for _months_.”

Thorin sighed once more. “I do not wish to continue our conversation from earlier,” he said before he pursed his lips in clear annoyance. “Not in such a way. The wizard was gone from our table when I returned to it but he found me as we were shown our way here. He spoke to the elf and they have agreed to a meeting in a few hours time to discuss… elements of this Quest. Gandalf will ask me to show him the map.” At Bilbo’s grumbling, the king rolled his eyes in a way the hobbit hadn’t seen - he looked rather like his youngest nephew for it. Thorin moved closer to the bed and arched his eyebrows almost _mockingly_.

“We’ll do it your way, Master Baggins: I will show him the map and ask for his assistance in reading it,” he stated. “And I ask that you be there as I do it.”

Bilbo blinked at the dwarf, opening his mouth before clicking it shut. Was he really, _truly_ listening for once in his life? And to the _hobbit,_ of all people? He had a hard time believing he could ever spur the dwarf into changing his mind about _anything at all,_ let alone something that had to do with _elves_. The hobbit eyed him with a frown.

“Well. Finally,” he muttered before he started. “Err. I mean, good. Ah, good, yes. But, um, why do you want me there? I’ve seen the map quite a few times by now, surely you can tell us what it might say when you return? I will hardly be of any help, I’m sure.”

“I disagree,” Thorin returned, a slight quirk to the left corner of his mouth. “I think you might make for a good mediator during the process of such a delicate situation.”

Bilbo blinked dumbly at the king before he felt amusement bubble in his chest and he began to laugh quite before he knew it. He shook his head in disbelief as a self-deprecating sort of smile came over the dwarf’s face and was followed by a _chuckle_. The hobbit gripped at his trousers as he continued to snicker, leaning back into the headboard much more comfortably now, thank you.

“When our meeting concludes, I will be holding you responsible for the outcome of our Quest,” Thorin informed him and Bilbo snorted.

“Oh dear, don’t even say that to tease me, you won’t like the results. I’m very unlucky when it comes to adventure and Quests, if you haven’t noticed,” he pointed out, grinning at the fool of a dwarf he had _chosen_ to follow. “Fine. I’ll go to your meeting but confound you, Thorin, if you can’t keep ahold of yourself on your own! Goodness gracious me! You are the most stubborn person I have met in all my life, you know, but I’m proud you’ve come this far.”

Thorin gave him a _look_. “I have not met one before that would challenge me the way that you have, Master Baggins. I think it fair to say there is a stubbornness to hobbits,” he replied with a tilt of his head in Bilbo’s direction. “I did not think to find that when I first stepped foot in the Shire.”

“Oh, you were terribly mistaken then. Hobbits are quite stubborn indeed but very few of us have true fire in our hearts,” he said, waggling his finger under the dwarf’s nose. “Not enough to bother with anyone not a hobbit, at any rate. Suppose Gandalf truly thought long and hard on this one.” He smiled at the distaste that flashed over Thorin’s features. “Yes, well. Let us hope you never have to _thank_ either of us one day, Eru forbid.”

“Eru forbid,” the king agreed with his own lopsided smile, his eyes darting down to his boots before they found Bilbo’s again, striking the hobbit silly. “Meet Balin and I outside after the sun sets. Gandalf will be here then and he will take us to the elf.” Thorin inclined his head as he dismissed himself and the hobbit watched his back as he retreated from the room.

As soon as Thorin disappeared, Bilbo inhaled sharply, clutching at his belly; he had felt like he’d been given a swift kick to it when the king smiled at him in such a way. It was a _shy_ thing and made him look like an entirely different dwarf for that very brief moment - the hobbit felt an absurd longing to track him down and draw it out again. He knew Thorin was handsome, of course he did, but it hadn’t affected him quite like _that_. Of course he hadn’t been smiled at quite like _that_ before either.

Bilbo shook himself, attempting to be rid of the thoughts - it would not help his situation and he hardly needed to be distracted by sky-blue eyes and a charming smile. No indeed. And the fact that he hadn’t felt his heart pound in such a way in many decades was neither here nor there. He had a _dragon_ to worry about, after all and there was no room for ogling a king; none at _all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll really be moving along next chapter. :) I'll probably update this one on Friday evenings.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	3. Chapter 3

After Rivendell, after the map-reading, Bilbo Baggins thought the Quest to reclaim Erebor might go a bit more smoothly. As he ran through the Misty Mountains with a strange, murderous creature on his heels, he wondered how he could have been foolish enough to hope for such a thing. The Company’s journey through the last two nights could not have gone any _worse_.

When they learned what secrets the map held - the knowledge that only Durin’s Day would allow them into Erebor - Gandalf had informed Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo they would be leaving that very night. The hobbit might have cried; he had been thinking of a warm, soft bed from the moment they arrived in the elven city and he would yet again be sleeping on the Road. Even _that_ was a naive thought, really, because he hadn’t gotten _it_ , either. What he’d gotten was a horrid rainstorm, a near death experience, biting remarks from a dwarf king once more, and a cave that happened to be a goblin trap.

And as he awoke buried in the plant that likely saved his life, he hadn’t a clue where he was; the sickly breathing of a creature making its way toward him had nearly frightened him out of his skin. The hobbit had followed in hopes that the _thing,_ which clearly spoke Westron, might lead him out of the accursed mountain. Oh, it certainly had, but it had cost him his nerves, his buttons, and nearly his sanity in the process. Bilbo had played a game of riddles and thought it was going well for him until _Gollum_ had declared him a thief and attempted to take his head off. He, of course, hadn’t really known that the simple golden ring belonged to the creature, though he should have; where else could it have come from?

There was also the fact that he was positive when the ring had slipped onto his finger in a fall that it was abnormal, even for a ring of magic. The moment it had slipped on, he wished to rip it right back off - a flood of old memories hit him quite out of nowhere and the roars of dragons old had sounded in his ears. When Gollum had almost barreled into him, he only just managed to get to his feet and save himself; the creature then, unbeknownst to him, had lead Bilbo from the Mountains. Hope had flared when he caught sight of the Company and when he finally broke into daylight, he could have screamed with joy.

After the hobbit was sure Gollum would not be following him through the sparse forest and he heard the Company ahead, he ducked behind a tree. Bilbo tore the ring off and sharply inhaled fresh and cool air; it had felt suffocating and reminded him of fire and smoke. The heat in his lungs was no comfort to him now, though, not as a hobbit. He looked down at the innocent golden band as he panted, turning it over and over, looking for _something_. _Some_ thing that could tell him what it was and where it came from. Dragons were familiar with magic rings - they were familiar with Rings of Power, as well. This was more than a simple spell and it felt more sinister than the single Ring of Power he had come across in his time; he hadn’t devoured it, he had returned it to the fell thing that created it.

Bilbo shook himself of those memories, swallowing past a dry throat, continuing to stare at the glinting ring. It took raised voices to truly pull him from his reverie and before he knew it, the ring was back on his finger and he was tearing down the hill toward the dwarves. He felt an irrational anger pool in his stomach when he heard Thorin’s words - he was long gone, was he? Did the dwarf think, after _everything_ , he would so easily flee? Like a coward? If Bilbo had been able, he would show the dwarf king his spine and see who decided to flee then-

The hobbit yanked the ring off to rid himself of the desire to _hurt_ , to bite and to burn, and showed himself. His anger melted away when he saw blue eyes staring at him in genuine confusion and offered his explanation for why he was there and why he wanted to help. Most of it was true - he wished to see the Quest end with Thorin and his people in Erebor; he also wished to be of aid with Smaug if he could. If Bilbo saved just one person because of the experiences of his past life, he would consider himself worth every moment of frustration for the Company, even if the dwarves didn’t know his reason for it. And he would consider _himself_ worth it, as well.

Their hardships did not end when they left the caves - Thorin’s past had quite caught up to him before they knew it. And when Bilbo watched the fool of a dwarf attempt to take revenge on the Pale Orc in his grief, aiding him wasn’t something he had to think on; it was simply right. Though his small hobbit body was not suited for swords or battles and if it weren’t for the Great Eagles, he would have certainly been a warg’s meal that night. One of the eagles had swooped him up and abruptly dropped him off a cliff - it was not a pleasant few seconds, he had to admit, but then he had fallen onto the back of another bird.

When the eagle soared into the night sky, Bilbo felt as if he had been struck and all thought left him; he only felt a terrible pain and longing. He was flying again -  though they weren’t his wings, he was _flying_. The roar of air was all he heard and the rush of it over his skin was all he felt - it was only when the hobbit’s vision blurred enough for him to clamp his eyes shut tight that he realized he had begun to cry, his tears frosty on his cheeks. He was thankful he was alone on his eagle as he forced himself back to conscious thought - Thorin. The dwarf was limp in his own eagle’s talons and besides the fluttering of his hair, he did not twitch, not even as the sun rose and the great birds banked East, jostling the frozen Company.

The eagles deposited them on the Carrock and thankfully it was only a brief moment of fright before Thorin was on his feet. The embrace was not at all something Bilbo expected but it filled him with warmth and he was gifted that _smile_ again, which sent his heart all aflutter. An apology later and the hobbit knew he would no longer doubt Thorin either; the king deserved his confidence and he would follow him to whatever end they found. He only hoped it was in their favor.

After taking stock of themselves and patching up the worst of the wounds the Company had received, they descended the Carrock and were informed by Gandalf there was a ‘house.’ Understandably, everyone began to pray for a friend, even if the wizard said they would not find one there - he seemed doubtful of their welcome himself, actually, but they would try nonetheless. The Company set out with haste and by midday the next day, they found themselves at the mysterious home.

Bilbo felt Gandalf could have chosen his potential allies with a bit more care.

The Man was a bear in his spare time, apparently, and it was terrifying! Bilbo had known skin-changers, yes, but _Yavanna_ , it didn’t help his situation at present - Beorn was _massive_. The hobbit was _certain_ it had been the other way around before! And of course the dwarves went about mucking up introductions but Gandalf managed to spin the tale of their journey anyway and snared the interest of the skin-changer. He offered sanctuary in his home, food for their bellies, and salves for their wounds - most of their belongings had been lost to the goblin caves.

The hobbit took a jar of salve himself and inquired after some privacy; he could only imagine what the bruising from his fall would look like. He was terribly sore and if he were able to find any relief beyond a cup of herbal tea for the pain, he would gladly take it. Beorn showed him outside and to his well, pulling fresh water for the hobbit up; Bilbo only wished he would leave after. No such luck.

He carefully went about pulling his waistcoat off and began the arduous task of ridding the tunic next. The skin-changer was of no help, simply standing there with his bulging arms crossed over his chest and _staring_ at him. Given he was aiding them so very much, Bilbo was having a hard time voicing his complaints.

“I’ve never met a Halfling before,” Beorn finally rumbled, raking deep brown eyes along the hobbit’s person. “And I think I have yet to.”

Bilbo warred with his tunic, plucking it off his head and throwing it to the ground in his frustration. He froze when the skin-changer’s words caught up to him, his stomach taking a swift trip down toward his feet as his heart soared into his throat. The hobbit snapped his head up to look at Beorn and was met with a steady, emotionless gaze.

“Er,” Bilbo managed. “Pardon? I am indeed a- a- well, we don’t like _Halfling_ , actually, it’s considered a bit of an insult. Hardly half of anything! I am a hobbit from the Shire, as Gandalf has already said; quite a bit West from here, have you ever been?” He swallowed when the skin-changer’s eyes slowly narrowed, his bushy eyebrows drawing downward and casting a dark shadow over his face. A small noise of fear left Bilbo’s throat and he suddenly wished he weren’t half out of his clothes.

“No,” Beorn replied, “I’ve never been to the Shire. You may have come from there but you weren’t born there. You have a fire in you, Halfling, I can see it in your eyes. They may not be able to - dwarves can’t see anything beyond their own greed but it’s there if you look hard enough. Not a little bunny like I thought you were, are you? You were hatched in the North, beyond the Forest and Mountain East.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “I- I- I am certain I don’t know what you mean,” he squeaked out, shuffling a few paces back and kneeling to grab his tunic. He kept his eyes on the skin-changer as he held the material to his chest, attempting to at least keep some of his dignity. “H-Hatched! No no, I am a hobbit, thank you, I was born in the West- oh goodness-“

The hobbit yelped as Beorn took two steps closer to him and abruptly lifted him up off the ground from under his shoulders, holding him at eye level. Bilbo turned tomato red and kicked his legs, completely mortified; how _dare_ he! The nerve! Despite what he thought - _knew_ \- about the hobbit, it hardly gave him any right to handle him in such a way!

“Put me down this instant!” Bilbo squawked, glowering at the blasted skin-changer. “I am not a child! I am a grown hobbit, put me _down!_ This is most-“

“Have you been false with them?” Beorn all but growled at him, leveling him with such a fierce gaze that the hobbit went limp. “Or do they know what you are?”

Bilbo stared helplessly at him, his jaw hanging slack. “N-No,” he managed to choke. “I- I mean, yes, they- I mean Gandalf! _Gandalf_ , he knows, he’s the reason I’m _like_ this to begin with. And I’ve been like this for a very, _very_ long time, thank you. Gandalf and I are old friends and he asked for my help with this blasted Quest! Please, _put me down!”_ He kicked his legs again and the skin-changer ever so slowly lowered him back to the ground. As soon as he let the hobbit loose, Bilbo scowled, planting one hand on his hip and waggling his finger at him with the other.

“That was most impolite and I will ask you to never do such a thing again! I have had a _very_ long few days and I am not to be trifled with! Look at me, I’m _purple_ and you’ve likely only added to it! I will need another cup of tea at this rate though I am certain my pain won’t end there, no indeed, because this Quest has been filled with nothing but!” He glared at Beorn as he tapped his foot on the ground, watching thick eyebrows lift along a large forehead.

Beorn stared down at him before he began, very much out of nowhere, to _laugh_. And it wasn’t a simple chuckling, no, it was a booming _guffaw_ , which was far more embarrassing. Bilbo whined as he glanced past the skin-changer and toward his home, only somewhat relieved to not see any dwarves milling about yet; he wasn’t sure if he wished to be rescued or to not be noticed at all.

“Perhaps you are still a little bunny,” Beorn announced with a toothy white grin. “You have fire of a different kind. A serpent you are not! The wizard did this to you, you said? How? What happened to get you into this state?” He bent down on one knee so he could peer at the hobbit, his eyes sweeping along him, pausing at the scar on his belly.

Bilbo felt his cheeks grow warm and it took every ounce of self-control he had to not wrap his arms around himself. “I shall first ask you to call me Bilbo, I am hardly a _rabbit_. And please, _please_ keep this to yourself! None of the others know and it’s best they don’t or they will surely try to kill me. After that dragon took over Erebor, I think they’re a little less than fond of them and I wish to live yet. I’ve been a hobbit for nearly two hundred years, you know; I was in a War and took a very thick arrow from a Man to my belly. If Gandalf hadn’t helped me, I would be long dead. Thankfully he decided to give me a different life and from that day forward, I have been a hobbit from the Shire. And I am quite happy with it so please kindly say nothing of this!”

“If I planned on asking Oakenshield of this, I would not have spoken with you first,” Beorn stated with an arched brow. “Your secrets are safe with me for the time being though I will be speaking with the wizard to confirm what you’ve told me. I don’t like dragons and I’ve been satisfied to not see any from the Old Days. Your kind went North again and they haven’t come back. Only you and that fire-drake in the dwarves’ Mountain remain in the East.” The hobbit sighed.

“Yes, Gandalf has gathered much the same. If that lot fled North and haven’t shown themselves at all, it’s because they’re either weakened or dead. Good riddance, I say, no need to inspire anymore _Quests_. This one is quite enough,” Bilbo muttered, turning to the bucket of water finally. He took up the towel that had been draped over the side and began to wipe his skin down, taking care with the mottled bruising. “Hopefully Smaug will be no more soon enough himself. Then the only other two dragon-kind South of the Grey Mountains that will remain won’t be recognized. We’re all on just two feet now and we’ll forever remain that way.”

“Another two? Is that the wizard’s work as well?” Beorn questioned and the hobbit nodded in response. “Then I hope it is true that you can no longer take to the skies. The world has no need for serpents. It never did.” Bilbo snorted, shrugging his good shoulder as he glanced at the skin-changer.

“I can agree with that now though I have to admit I’m rather happy to be alive,” he commented as he continued to clean himself. “Yes, it was quite the evil thing that created us once upon a time. Let us hope it can never happen again, eh?” He tossed the towel into the bucket and rocked forward on his toes, waiting for his skin to dry; he paused when he saw the look on Beorn’s face and arched his eyebrows.

The skin-changer looked East toward Mirkwood with a considering frown on his face. “It can,” he murmured, snaring the hobbit’s full attention once more. “There are fell things in the Forest now, fell things that are called by dark stirrings. There is an old fortress near the southern borders of the Forest that has been abandoned for many centuries. It’s not so abandoned anymore; there are orcs and other creatures that are gathering there daily. What or who they are gathering to is something I would warn you to stay far away from though you may only encounter the spiders if you are going North.” Bilbo gaped at him.

“S-Spiders?” he squeaked. “The very large ones? Oh dear, I hope we don’t run across any such creatures but- but what do you mean? Who is gathering orcs? And for what purpose? Gandalf was speaking some nonsense about evil and an enemy in the East but I thought he might have been exaggerating. What on earth could be coming that we would need to worry about? There are hardly anymore beings on Middle Earth that could do what evil did before.”

“There will always be evil, little bunny,” Beorn said in what the hobbit thought an uncalled for patronizing sort of way. “I know not what it is yet but I do know it’s not something we will be able to ignore if orcs begin to take over the Forest. I don’t go in that place anymore. The path you are taking holds enough trouble on its own and I hope you don’t find more beyond it. I will speak with the wizard more before you go: I have questions for him.” The skin-changer stood, towering over Bilbo once more and narrowed his eyes toward the East.

Bilbo shook himself. He was entirely concerned about the blasted dragon and he didn’t want to be concerned about anything _else,_ thank you. Whatever was going on East was a great distance from his home and he would leave as soon as the Quest was finished - he would go back to the Shire and let wizards and skin-changers deal with evil enemies. Evil had not reached the Shire before and it wouldn’t yet; war was no longer in his vocabulary! He wanted _nothing_ to do with it.

“Right,” he muttered, blinking hard in an attempt to rid himself of long past times. “Well. Can’t say I’m not a bit more concerned about our trek through the Forest now but if orcs are South, we might be alright yet. Unless we come across _spiders_. Nasty creatures and I should never like to lay eyes upon them again. It would be their turn to pierce my hide and swallow me whole, I think; no no, I’m just going to worry about the task at hand. You and Gandalf can keep your talks of enemies to yourselves, please and thank you.” He grabbed the salve, opening it and sticking three fingers into it, happily applying it to the bruising on his left side.

Beorn chuckled. “Yes, it would be foolish of you to try and fight much of anything anymore. I don’t know how you will survive a dragon if you can’t survive spiders - Halflings are not made for any sort of battles. If you survive and go back to your Shire, come to see me again. I’d like to hear your tale,” he said with a grin, thankfully setting aside his sombre mood. “If you don’t come, I’ll believe you lost to that Mountain.”

The hobbit huffed. “So if I survive and head home, I have to come see you for you to believe I’m alive and well? Thank you very much for your confidence. If coming to see you is out of my way when I go back home, then I certainly will not be coming here! I miss the Shire quite a lot and I’ll be glad to return to it as swiftly as I can,” he said firmly, reaching awkwardly around to rub the salve into the bruising wrapping around his back. “Never will I be doing this again, look at what it’s done to me! I’m lucky I didn’t break any ribs or- or anything else!”

“Did you fall?” Beorn asked as he continued to be of no help. Not that Bilbo necessarily wanted his massive paws on his small person. “Or was this from the wargs?”

“I fell,” Bilbo grumbled, squinting up at the skin-changer. “Though it was very much a goblin’s fault and not my own! Goblins! Goodness gracious, I’ve already come across goblins and orcs and wargs, haven’t I? I certainly don’t remember signing up for death by any of those, no indeed. I wonder if that makes the dwarves liable if I die because of those foul things; I will have them pay a hefty sum to my good friends if that’s the case.”

“Burglar!” a deep-timbred voice barked, cutting off the skin-changer as he opened his mouth to respond. Bilbo immediately shut his eyes tight, whining his annoyance - he may have been on better standing with Thorin but he hardly wanted to see the dwarf right then. He hastened to continue rubbing the salve into his tender skin as he looked toward Beorn’s home and at the king striding toward him, a moody scowl on his face. The hobbit sighed as he saw the skin-changer arching an eyebrow at him.

“If I’ve been downgraded to burglar from Master Baggins, it means he’s _very_ upset with me,” he said drily, offering a rueful smile. “I’m eager to hear what I’ve done by simply being out of his hair for a short amount of time.” Beorn snorted, turning his great hairy head toward the dwarf as he approached them. Bilbo watched him with some wariness, blindly dipping his fingers into the salve once more - why couldn’t the king have come when he was finished?

“What did you do?” Thorin demanded before he had even reached them. At Bilbo’s bemused frown, the dwarf thrust his arm toward the hobbit’s side, making him start at the realization of what Thorin meant, but the dwarf only continued his questioning. “How did you receive such injuries? Why did you not let Oin examine you?”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose, turning his side away from the king. “Because I know I’m only bruised and that this will help me quite a bit, thank you. You yourself are far more injured than I am. And- and I didn’t _do_ anything, you know, I believe we all got a bit banged up from the Misty Mountains until here,” he sniffed before scowling as Thorin moved around to look at his bruising anyway.

The dwarf eyed him with distaste, which was terribly rude. “You fell,” he accused, balling his hands into fists when Bilbo groaned, a fairly common occurrence between them nowadays. “When did you fall? In the goblin caves? Is this what happened to you when you were separated from us?”

The hobbit was tempted to lob a handful of salve at him because he was speaking as if it was his _choosing_ to fall. Considering he had saved his hairy rear end right after falling, it had his hackles rising quickly; he glared at the king.

“Maybe,” he said, just to be a pain. Thorin dipped his head at him to give him his most unimpressed gaze and Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Yes, Thorin, I fell quite a long ways and I’m grateful I was able to find you lot again. I’m alright and I’ll _continue_ to be alright, just needed this to give me some relief. Gandalf doesn’t seem all that concerned about us being followed by orcs once we get into the Forest and I’ll be able to get a small reprieve if that’s true. Unless we run into anything else unsavory.” He glanced sidelong at Beorn, who looked far too entertained as he looked between dwarf and hobbit. At Bilbo’s squinting, the skin-changer gave a lazy shrug of his shoulders and strode back toward his home without another word.

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, looking the hobbit over from head to toe, his lips thinning as he did so. “You should still allow Oin to look at you,” he stated - ordered. “It is not unwise, Master Baggins, to have our healer examine your injuries.” Bilbo shot him a flat look.

“And you do so well with it yourself,” he mocked, then let out an indignant cry as Thorin plucked the salve right from his hands, lifting it into the air as he tried to reach for it. “ _Thorin!_ I’m not finished, give that back! Oh for Eru’s _sake,_ I didn’t ask for your help, I can do this by myself.” He whined his disapproval as the dwarf moved behind him and gathered salve on his own fingers before he unceremoniously began to rub it into his skin. The bruises may have been out of his reach but it was still entirely inappropriate! “You have the worst hands for this, I hope you know.” The hard press into his purpled skin was most definitely _not_ an accident; he glared over his shoulder at the dwarf.

The king simply stared right back at him before he turned his attentions onto his back again. “And you cannot reach,” he replied. “It is either this or I will send Oin after you. I should do so either way; I would recommend wrapping this to relieve the swelling. It will help as we travel through that Forest and you would not be in such pain. You should have done it when we first arrived here.”

Bilbo sighed, dropping his chin to his collar. “We haven’t been here all that long, Thorin, I can still do it. Though I’d really rather not take this to Oin, he’ll make a scene and then I’ll have you lot treating me like I might fall apart,” he muttered sullenly. “There is a reason why I don’t bother, especially if I know I’ll be fine on my own!”

Thorin’s hands stayed for a long enough moment that the hobbit glanced back at him. His face was pinched and he was staring at Bilbo with disbelief. “You think after all you have done we think you so easily broken? You have proven yourself time and time again, Master Baggins, none of us would think you fragile. We would see to your injuries as one of the Company and nothing more than that. Do you think myself less capable after our night past?”

At that, the hobbit pursed his lips. “Well, no,” he huffed out. “But you are a _dwarf_ and I am a hobbit-“

“And I think the peril you mentioned was not the result of a _cart_ accident,” Thorin interrupted with heat, scowling at Bilbo when he whirled around to look at him. “I know not what has happened in your past but do not think me such a fool to believe all of your scarring came from such a thing. You have been cut with a blade, I am not blind. Oin and I know you have been through great pain; pain that you survived. I would expect you to know from your experience that you must take care of yourself to prevent _further_ damage _._ ”

Bilbo opened his mouth before he snapped it shut with a click, blinking owlishly up at the king. He couldn’t address the whole cart business, no indeed, it was dangerous territory. But Thorin looked nearly _furious_ with him and it took him aback - why in the world was he so upset about it? “Er,” the hobbit managed before he shook his head quickly. “W-Well, I, ah- well I do know that, of course. I simply don’t think this will be something to cause me further damage. What has you wound up so tight? If you want so badly for me to have myself wrapped, _fine,_ but I assure you I’m quite alright. Goodness gracious me, I’ve been bruised before, Thorin.”

“Have you,” Thorin did not ask, raising his eyebrows to his hairline in that newfound mocking way of his. “Does that change your injuries today? Turn around and let me finish; then you will go to Oin and have him wrap your bruising.” Bilbo sucked in a deep breath and held it so he didn’t argue.

If Thorin were properly bootless, he would stomp on his foot and then kick his shin for good measure. Instead, he grumbled to himself and turned again, letting the dwarf none-too-gently finish his work - for being so upset at Bilbo being hurt, he was certainly not helping any. When the king was done, he used the bucket of water and towel to wash his hands, the hobbit following. He snatched his tunic up and slid it on, flapping his hand at Thorin when he stared stonily at him for doing such a thing.

“I’m not walking in there shirtless, thank you!” Bilbo snapped, turning on his heel and stomping his way back to the house. “You know, doubting me was foolish and rude and all, but this fretting is a near second. I don’t see you getting after anyone else like this.” He heard the crunching of earth beneath Thorin’s boots as he followed him, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end from the sheer force of his glare. The hobbit didn’t have to _see_ it to know it was there.

“You don’t see me _fretting_ because they are not _foolish_ enough to not have their injuries tended to by our healer,” the king shot back. “Would you rather I not care?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Bilbo hissed waspishly, glancing back at Thorin and waving his finger over his shoulder. “You are just as stuffy in your care as your irritation. Thank you, I suppose, for wishing to see me taken care of, but I’ve experienced worse and I know what I can and cannot handle.” He sniffed as he marched through the garden and up the stone steps into Beorn’s home. The hobbit didn’t let Thorin continue to lecture him and went sniffing for Oin; when he was sure no dwarf king was looming behind him, he politely asked the healer for bandaging for a small bruise on his arm. Thankfully, Oin simply pushed it into his hands with a mutter to come to him if he needed any further aid. Thank Eru.

Bilbo sought out who he knew would take pity on him and help without barking in his ear about how _stupid_ he was: Fili. And with Fili came Kili. He found the brothers conversing conspiratorially together near the large fire pit in the center of the room and politely asked for help, not bothering to ask what tomfoolery they planned on getting into while at the skin-changer’s home. Be it on their heads.

Once he corralled the dwarves into a more quiet corner of the home, he warned them to keep quiet and simply help him wrap his torso and stomach. They predictably expressed anguish at his mottled skin but sat the hobbit down, settling themselves on either side of him, helping each other with his bandaging. The brothers had enough sense to not make it too tight at the very least and Bilbo happily let their chatter coax him back into a good mood.

“Bilbo,” Kili said as they finished his stomach and moved to wrap his upper body. “What did you do to our uncle? He’s trying to set you on fire.” The brunet spoke cheerily, which the hobbit felt did not particularly fit the situation; and indeed, when he looked across the home and saw the king glowering at him, he huffed. The dwarf had apparently been on his way to the dining table to join some members of his Company but had caught sight of them and was none-too-happy about it.

“He wanted me to have Oin do this and now realizes he is too late in stopping me from asking you two for help,” Bilbo sniffed, jutting his chin out and raising his eyebrows toward Thorin in challenge. Fili snorted.

“That’ll help,” he said with put on enthusiasm. “But I don’t blame you for not wanting Oin’s aid. After already working on all of us, he stops being as gentle and quiet as he normally is.” Bilbo and Kili both snickered.

The brunet widened his eyes playfully at the hobbit. “But really, I think Thorin wants to murder you,” he said with a grin as he passed off the bandage to his brother, who wound it around Bilbo’s chest and handed it back. “Thought you two were finally going to start getting along which would’ve been welcome for _all_ of us. Mahal, _look_ at him.” His brother peered at his uncle from the corner of his eye and offered a dimpled grin of his own.

“I have to say that if you weren’t going to allow Oin to do this, Thorin would’ve preferred to do it himself,” Fili commented. “He’s gone off on us twice now for being friendly with you. It was bizarre, honestly, he doesn’t care that you’ve made friends with anyone else. Said we should give you space and leave you alone.”

Bilbo gaped at the dwarf, a hot flush gathering over his cheeks. “W-Well, that’s just silly. As much as I might like that now and then, I believe it’s my choice who I’m friends with! And he wasn’t gentle himself putting the blasted salve on, I don’t trust he wouldn’t have tried to cut off my blood supply,” he said with a scowl, lifting his hands and resting them on one of the brothers’ shoulder each. It was simply to give them more room to work but at Kili’s wrinkled nose and the duck of his head, it hadn’t sat well with Thorin. “For Eru’s _sake,_ your uncle is a _child_. How do you dwarves tell someone to- _you know._ With your hands, I mean. I’ve seen Dwalin do it once or twice.”

Fili frowned at him, holding up his hand in a clear gesture before he blanched as Bilbo lifted his hand above his shoulder, snatching it up. “ _Bilbo,_ ” he sputtered. “Are you trying to get _us_ killed? Don’t use that on him!” He glared at his brother as Kili began to laugh, the brunet dropping his head back and clutching at his stomach. “You know what would happen to us. Mum would get us back with a few missing pieces. Mahal, if you do it, we didn’t teach you.”

“ _We_ didn’t,” Kili agreed with a white grin, “ _you_ did. Though I agree that it’s not worth the suffering. Only Dwalin is allowed that privilege and any fondness Thorin has for you will be washed away. I think it would at least, but if he’s tending to your wounds by himself, you might be stuck with it. Did he really put _salve_ on you? You’re right, Fee, bizarre. Uncle stopped doing that for us when we could take ourselves to healers.” Bilbo eyed the brothers as they shared a _look_.

“What? I didn’t _ask_ him to, he did it by himself,” he defended, which was apparently worse as their eyebrows shot to their hairlines. “ _What?_ He owes me a life debt and while I don’t want anything out of that, that’s probably where it’s coming from. What is so blasted _funny?”_ He scowled as they shared amused smiles with each other; both attempted to school their features but failed horribly at it.

“Nothing,” Fili said innocently. “It’s not funny at all.”

“It’s just that it makes sense,” Kili agreed, putting on a frown of sympathy. “And it’s really sad.”

Bilbo looked helplessly between them. “ _What_ makes sense? What is _sad?_ That he doesn’t know how to be polite about anything?” he demanded. “Or that his perceived acts of kindness involve yelling at me for being foolish enough to get myself injured? Oh for- if you two do that _one_ more time, I’ll bop you on your ridiculous noses.” He waggled his finger at the brothers as they shared another confounded look, as if they knew something he didn’t, which was highly unlikely in Bilbo’s opinion.

Fili cleared his throat. “Yes. I mean, that’s why he’s… sad. A lost cause, really, he doesn’t know how to show normal care once dwarflings pass a certain age. Once he’s glad to see you’re alright, he yells at you for making him worry in the first place, as you’ve now experienced. That’s all we mean, nothing more,” he explained. When Bilbo glanced at Kili, he scoffed as the dwarf went from an incredulous look at his brother to attempting to play it off as he saw the hobbit’s eyes on him.

“You two are being sneaks and if it’s at my expense, you will regret it,” he warned, eyeing them both warily. “Is there anything I should be worried about with your uncle?”

“No,” Fili rushed, squinting at his brother over the hobbit’s head, causing Bilbo to groan. “Really, we mean it. He might be better around you if you don’t continue to antagonize him but otherwise, nothing at all to worry yourself over. You should probably stay out of his way for a while if you don’t want him to become… overbearing.”

Bilbo snorted. “I’ve been doing that from the night I met him,” he said drily, finally lifting his arms above his head, testing the stretch of his bandages when Kili finished the last round. “And I will continue to do it until he manages to pull his head out of his rear end and by that I mean: I will do it until the day I say goodbye to you lot and head home. At least he’s easy enough to avoid.”

“Yeah, _that_ might change,” Kili muttered darkly, shooting a quick glance toward his uncle. The hobbit sighed, patting the dwarf’s knee - perhaps he would rescue them before Thorin could get his sticky paws on them.

——

Their time at Beorn’s home was filled with good food, hot baths, and the time to restock their belongings; it sadly had to end. After skirting around Thorin Oakenshield as much as he could, Bilbo found himself plopped onto a pony once more in his life and much to his dismay, they were leaving the skin-changer’s hospitality behind. He seemed to take to the hobbit and despite the somewhat mortifying moments that led to, Bilbo wished he was not leaving. Their travels would now take them to Mirkwood and not one member of the Company was looking forward to it.

When Gandalf left them at the Elven Gate, the hobbit’s distress increased tenfold because he was aware of the dangers they might face and having a wizard around seemed best. And how dare he leave Bilbo after forcing him along on this Quest! Without any proper explanation even! The hobbit was forced to watch him ride South before Thorin urged them forward, wishing to make haste through the trees; and though he knew it to be true, Bilbo was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that Erebor was just East of the Forest.

After the trees swallowed all daylight and an odd heaviness came over the air, the hobbit began to feel more lost than he had at any other point in their journey so far. There was a constant buzzing in his ears, as if Beorn’s bees had followed them, and he felt eyes on him at all moments - even when the dwarves were not looking. _Spiders_ repeated in his mind so often that he swore he began to see the beastly creatures wherever he looked but when he focused they often turned into the gnarled and twisted branches of trees.

In one of Bilbo’s brief moments of clarity, he wondered if the foggy haze settling over their minds was anything like the dragon-spell. He might have been able to control it at one point but he never had fallen victim to it himself; he hoped that truth remained when he looked Smaug in the eye.

It all went wrong when Thorin chose to veer from the path, once again doing exactly what he was told not to do, not bothering to listen to any warnings. Of course they only came from the hobbit, so perhaps that was why.

And then _spiders_. The spiders came and until Bilbo slipped on his golden friend, he was quite terrified out of his mind. There came a certain sense of safety when he was invisible, even if the warped sounds of his environment and the dark mutterings in his mind set his teeth on edge. He had no time to think on the ring, however, and used it as well as he could to his advantage; in his anger, he thought he did a rather good job of slaying the fell creatures. And then the ring he was beginning to cherish had slipped from his finger and caused panic to well in his chest that had nothing to do with spiders. He was not sure what the creature was that he fought with relative ease to retrieve the ring but he hadn’t the time to dwell on that either.

Bilbo had gotten his hand around the ring, shoved it into his pocket, and begun to run when the elves came quite out of nowhere. An arrow had been pointed at his nose before he had any idea what had been happening and he could only gape at the three guards that surrounded him. They seemed as confused by his presence as he was theirs but they received no answers to their questions - and certainly they did not receive the knowledge that he knew perfectly well what they were saying in Sindarin. It hardly seemed as if he should make that known, no indeed.

The hobbit could hear angry dwarven curses ahead as the elves led him through the forest, muttering to themselves about Halflings and what their king would do about them all. If they hadn’t taken Sting from him, he would threaten their fancy bows with it when they began to speak about the dwarves with so much venom and scorn it nearly sent him into fury. Apparently Thorin’s hatred was a mutual feeling with the elves of Mirkwood and Bilbo found himself already deeply concerned for their well-being - would this elf king truly try and stop them? Or barter for his jewels in return for letting them go?

As Bilbo cursed the dwarf for being _justified_ in his worries, he began to hear running water, stronger than any stream. The elves spoke more stiffly and ignored his request to catch up with his companions - he had an idea why they were lingering behind and it frustrated him all the more. He was not a show pig! The trees were still wider and taller than any he had seen in his life but they were thinning out and elven architecture began to meld with the Forest’s natural environment. And confound it all, the hobbit still found his breath taken away when he finally laid eyes on Thranduil’s Palace. It was more mighty than he had expected it would be and his jaw hung slack as the elves led him along a precarious bridge into the city.

He could see the dwarves already well ahead and above them but they weren’t looking below and didn’t see the hobbit desperate to join them once more. It was a long journey still before Bilbo finally heard their familiar voices, enraged and offering plenty of colorful phrases before a deeper voice silenced them. As the hobbit was shoved in an extremely rude fashion along the raised platform, he finally saw his friends - and a throne. And a very _stuffy_ blond elf that was garbed in silver fabric and wearing a tall crown shaped into what looked like branches of a tree with leaves intertwined in them atop his head.

The elf king caught sight of his guard along with Bilbo and the hobbit watched as his eerily icy blue eyes widened a fraction. The Company turned as one to see what snared his attention and a cheer immediately sounded; Bilbo offered a quick smile that was more of a grimace to let them know he was quite alright. It took two elves to stop Thorin and Bofur from rushing his way and he wished they would not be so _foolish_.

“ _A Halfling accompanied the dwarves,_ ” the auburn-haired elf announced to his king and Bilbo stepped forward before they could push him again. His hackles were raised as far as they could go and he felt he couldn’t be held responsible for what he said or did in his ire. “ _He was armed with an elvish blade though we did not recognize it._ ”

“A Halfling,” Thranduil repeated as his eyes slowly crept along every bit of the hobbit. “I have not met any Halflings from the West. Perhaps you will be more open in speaking with me; come forward.” He twisted his hand gracefully and Bilbo grumbled as he marched forward, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and fixing the elf with a stern gaze.

“Not likely,” he declared. “I don’t blame them if they haven’t been altogether open with you considering we’ve been detained and they have their wrists bound. Have we committed any crimes, my king?”

Thranduil’s dark eyebrows lifted a fraction as his head tilted. “You are trespassing in my lands,” he said as if it were obvious and was met with cries of outrage from the dwarves. “The Path you used is not allowed for simple travel through the Forest. I wonder why it is then that the King Under the Mountain chose to come this way. There is a purpose beyond travel to the Iron Hills.” At that, he gave a little, condescending smile, his eyes sweeping back to the dwarves.

“We did not mean to trespass,” Balin attempted with some civility, even if his eyes spoke plenty of his own irritation. “We were not aware that the old Elven Path was not open for travel any longer. After what we encountered, we see why it’s not but beyond that, we are simply _traveling_. As you know, our king has kin in the Iron Hills.”

Thorin was staring at the elf king with more contempt than Bilbo had seen yet and it sent a cold trickle of dread along his spine. The blasted dwarf was going to get them tossed into a dungeon or worse, _killed_. There would be no controlling his temper with the elf and Bilbo wasn’t sure how well the other dwarves could help: not much, if their furious faces were anything to go by.

“Kin that he has not come to see in many long years. I imagine not before the dragon came,” Thranduil said lightly, attempting to draw it out of them, naturally. “Ah yes, the _dragon_. The only reason I ever believed might draw Thorin Oakenshield to the East once more but you bring not an army. You bring twelve dwarves and a Halfling.”

“What of it?” Thorin growled. “You will believe only what you wish. We have committed no crimes and I would have you release my Company. Can we not speak as we should?” He thrust his hands forward to indicate the binds on them but the elf king only smiled with no hidden amount of _mirth_ , the pointy-eared curmudgeon.

“We will. One king to another,” Thranduil said with an inclination of his head. “But we will do so this evening. To cells, I think.” He looked at his guards as a roar went through the Company once more - Bilbo clamped his eyes shut tight and sucked in a breath in an attempt to keep his harried heart from bursting through his chest. When he looked back to the dwarves, they were cursing and arguing with the elf on top of each other; only Balin was quiet and he looked as annoyed as the hobbit.

The elves began to corral the Company back with no subtle threat of drawing their bows once more. “Not the Halfling,” Thranduil called with a light air above the dwarves, which abruptly silenced them. All thirteen heads snapped to Bilbo and he felt his stomach take a tumble through the floor, turning his head toward the elf king, his eyes wide as he pointed at himself. What on _earth_ could the elf do with him? He knew he wouldn’t be spilling any proverbial beans!

Thorin took a step toward the hobbit and was stopped when a blond guard pulled his bow around to his front, holding it defensively. The king all but snarled at him before he looked to Bilbo again. “You do not have to speak with him,” he stated, his voice hoarse with anger. “You need not feel cowed by this traitor who has nothing to be gained from you.” He turned narrowed blue eyes on Thranduil who looked so entirely apathetic that the hobbit wished to kick him.

Bilbo patted at his pockets before he rested his hands on his hips and rocked forward on his toes. He was more than a little confused on what he should do. “Well, ah, I can say with confidence I won’t be,” he offered to Thorin, shrugging his shoulders helplessly as he received a warning glare in return. “I’ll be fine, please don’t worry about me. I will be tossed into a cell along with them when you’ve had your fun, yes?” He swung his gaze back to the elf, who offered a single nod, an oily smile stuck on his face. The elf’s eyes were crinkled at the corners but it wasn’t with any warmth or kindness. “Ah, yes, good then. Good. Thorin, _go_.”

The hobbit waved his hands in a shooing motion as the elves began to push the king, who was resolutely _not_ moving and causing his Company to do the very same thing. Bilbo was certain they would be bound hands and feet and gagged before long and he didn’t wish to join them. He raised his eyebrows to his hairline and Thorin finally let out a long, ferocious slew of Khuzdul, turning and allowing himself to be herded away from the throne. The hobbit sighed, waving his hand as the rest of the dwarves gazed back at him with worry - Thranduil wasn’t going to lob his head off anytime soon and he wasn’t worth risking their safety. Kili and Bofur looked particularly incensed and the latter sent him a pleading gaze. What he was pleading for, Bilbo couldn’t say.

He listened to their understandable frustrations and only turned back to Thranduil when the sound of their voices began to drift away. The elf stared down his nose at him before he stood from his throne and swept down along it with ease, twisting his wrist once more toward his guard. Each of them turned on their heel and abruptly marched off - Bilbo felt his nose twitch in annoyance. The blasted elf clearly didn’t consider him the least bit threatening which… well, he wasn’t, but it still was a jab at his ego, thank you.

Thranduil approached and came to a stop only a few feet from Bilbo. “Odd to see any but a dwarf with Thorin Oakenshield. He does not trust so easily,” he stated, knowing full well how much of an arse he was being. “How is that you came to travel with him, Master…?”

“Baggins,” Bilbo muttered warily. “Bilbo Baggins, pleased to meet you. I can say I’m a friend to Thorin and he asked me to come along with him. We’re headed for the Iron Hills, that’s really all you need to know. This is hardly an acceptable way to treat anyone who hasn’t done you any injustices, you know. We actually spent some time in Rivendell before we moved through the Misty Mountains and I can say we were welcomed _quite_ a bit more warmly.” He emphasized the ’t’ as hard as he could. “We were given food, beds, and a polite send-off and we stumbled upon them rather unexpectedly as well.”

“Lord Elrond does not have as much to lose given he is not at the foot of a Mountain that harbors a dragon you wish to slay,” Thranduil stated, a slight downturn to his great black eyebrows. “Do you deny such a thing? I am not certain why you would given its obvious nature. Thorin Oakenshield would not use the Path of old to travel through my forests; he knew it offered him the strongest possibility to not be seen. A secret… Quest, I gather? He finally grew tired of that dragon in his Mountain?” As the elf spoke, he walked in a slow circle around Bilbo and the hobbit sent his eyes skyward.

“You are very presumptuous,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and raising his eyebrows at the elf. “I don’t have anything to say to you about our travels, that responsibility lies with the leader of our Company and you’ve just tossed him into a cell. Is it because I’m a _Halfling_ that you wish to speak with me? I promise you that we aren’t as interesting as we look. And it’s quite rude to single me out just because I’m a hobbit and you happened to have not met one before!”

The king tilted his head in that strange fashion of his. “But I have not met a hobbit,” he stated with put on indignation Bilbo could see right through. At the hobbit’s dumbfounded silence, he smiled. “Have I, Master Baggins? I have seen Mithrandir’s work once before in my life and I will not forget it. I can see what you are in eyes that hold a false color now. Did you think I would not notice? I have fought the serpents of the North and I have felt their fire; I also know the wizard took pity on such creatures and changed their appearances. I thought not to meet another until the moment I saw you. Golden fire is in your eyes.”

Bilbo stared. Because what could he say? This was the second person to know what he was and he found himself more terrified than he was with Beorn. This was dangerous - Thranduil had certainly been involved in the Wars of old given the location of Mirkwood and the hobbit wouldn’t have been surprised if they met on the same battlefield, though he didn’t know the elf by appearance. Why did Gandalf have to abandon them so easily? And why did he not warn Bilbo that some could take one look at him and know exactly what he was? He didn’t have any gold in his eyes, thank you, but that did nothing to wash away the fact that the skin-changer and elf both said they could see it in them.

“What do you want?” the hobbit finally asked, weary and wishing he were back with the _spiders_. “Just to inform me of how you are aware? _They_ are not, you know, and I’d quite like to keep it that way. I’m stuck as I am now and pose no danger to anyone; I’m only here because I was asked to help by a friend. What is in the past will be staying there, thank you very much. Can I go to my own cell now or do you have any further arrogance left to ooze?” He tapped his foot on the ground and jutted his chin out.

The elf stared down at him before a terrible smirk twisted his lips, his white teeth showing themselves for a brief moment. “Your past as a serpent means nothing to this journey?” he asked as he gave the hobbit a _look_. “No, why would it? It is simply a strange coincidence. Come, Master Baggins, let us speak without falsehoods. If there were to be a quest to slay a dragon, I would not attempt to stop it; on the contrary, I would offer my aid to the king. You are but a small Company and if you were to find yourselves at the foot of a dragon, the dwarf might find help _welcome_. Do you think he would be foolish enough to deny it?”

Bilbo gave a harsh snort, throwing his arms in the air. “ _Yes!_ ” he cried in annoyance. “Yes! And do you know what, I don’t really blame him! After what you did many years ago, you should be ashamed of yourself! I thought he was exaggerating about you but I can see now he wasn’t! You are a most unpleasant ally! Do you know how many dwarves likely _died_ because of your refusal to aid them? And I don’t mean _fighting_ that bloody beast, I mean offering food, shelter, and _medicine_ to people that needed it. You are very lucky Smaug didn’t turn his eyes on this place out of sheer _boredom!_ ” He waved his finger toward the elf as he finally drew a black glare out of him - good, he was capable of something other than haughtiness!

“Do not speak to me of a day you did not experience,” Thranduil spat, his arms hanging loosely at his sides as his shoulders grew taut. “The dwarves attracted that dragon by their own foolishness and greed. I was not responsible for cleaning up after them; I warned Thror when he was Fool Under the Mountain and he did not listen. Thorin Oakenshield carries the same reckless disregard for his people as his grandfather did-“

“Then why do you wish to help now?” Bilbo demanded in interruption, planting his hands on his hips once more. “Hmm? If he’s such a fool, what on earth would have you risking your safety to help him? Please, _inform_ me of the thought process of _kings,_ I find myself greatly lacking in knowledge when it comes to it.”

Thranduil visibly reined himself in from his obvious want to argue, closing his eyes and taking in a steady breath. “You try my patience,” he murmured, as if that would make the hobbit stop doing such a thing. “The day the dragon came has long since passed. He has not moved in decades and I would not doubt if he is weakened; if that dwarf wished for help, I would give it to him in exchange for what lies in that Mountain. There are gems that belong to my people: gems the dwarves stole long, long ago. I wish to see them returned to my home.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Of course it comes down to _treasure,_ ” he muttered, twisting around to walk in a circle, led on by his frustration. “Are jewels and gems and metals so precious to you that you would hold the dwarves prisoners until they agreed to give them back?”

“Yes,” Thranduil replied, clasping his hands behind his back once more, his stiff composure back in place. “Master Baggins, these are not gems you can find anywhere on Middle Earth but Erebor. They glow with starlight. An elf of old placed a holy light inside of them before the Coming of Men to this world; that elf asked the dwarves to place these gems in a necklace with the promise of payment in return for their work and they did - they then decided to _keep_ that necklace and inspired a war by that foolish action. I will offer not only the dwarves’ freedom but my help as well but if these gems are simply returned to me. They belong with elves.”

The hobbit watched the elf king as he spoke, his brow furrowed in bemusement. He still had a knack for sniffing out lies and he couldn’t see any in Thranduil’s words - it simply led to far more questions than he had time for. “If that was before the Coming of Men, that happened _before_ the First Age of our world. Are you telling me the dwarves have kept those gems for that long? Why on earth would they?” he asked, scrunching up his nose.

The elf arched a brow. “The dwarves have long had it in their minds that the elf that commissioned such work would not pay despite it having been a lie spoken by their own ancestors in an attempt to keep the necklace and so there is still a discord. The past is often muddled but I have no desire to revisit it: I only want what is rightfully ours. Do you think the dwarf will not treat with me?” he asked, turning his head in the direction the Company had been led.

Despite the elf king’s arrogance and near cruelty, Bilbo felt a mite sympathetic. He did not know the full story of what happened before even the First Age but it had clearly been a wrong done by the dwarves and if they were still keeping the blasted necklace, they were as greedy as their ancestors. The hobbit sighed, looping his thumbs in his pockets, rocking forward on his toes as he thought about Thorin. Thorin, who made it well known how he felt about this elf, and Bilbo knew what _his_ answer would be.

“Thorin won’t treat for your help, no. I think that’d be the last thing he could ever want, to be honest, not after your own past together. But he might treat for our release in exchange for that glowing necklace of yours,” he said carefully, eyeing Thranduil before him. “That is a very big might, I’ll have you know. What will you do if he refuses to treat in any sort of way with you? Keep us locked up for all eternity?”

Thranduil stared down his nose at the hobbit, looking as if he were considering doing _just_ that. “I would rather not do such a thing,” he intoned, “but if he leaves me no choice, Thorin Oakenshield may find he sits in that cell until he changes his mind. I will not go to war with him as my kin once did but I _will_ have those gems.”

“Of course you will,” Bilbo muttered, looking skyward with a shake of his head. “I’ve got some experience with the desire for gold, you know, and I can tell you now, looking back on it? Nasty business that only leads to peril and death, which you should already _know_. I understand your desire, however, considering it’s much like Thorin’s own. He simply wants his home back but if he gets it, you’ll be neighbors again. Detaining him like this isn’t buttering him up very well to make any sort of deals. Maybe he’ll see sense when it comes to that necklace, hmm? You can try but don’t expect anything from him: you killed his people, whether you want to believe so or not.”

The elf’s lips thinned. “There is nothing we can do about that day anymore-“

“You could apologize!” Bilbo snapped in interruption, holding his hands out with exasperation. “Not that it’d do any good because if it were Thorin in your big ugly boots, he wouldn’t either! At least it would be an acknowledgment of wrongs done by you, which might lead him to consider the wrongs done by his own people! If you’re so willing to keep him locked up, I’d have to say you’re not trying very hard to _actually_ get those gems back!”

Thranduil closed his eyes, tilting his chin upward in an apparent attempt to find patience. “What of you, Master Baggins? You have some small amount of sense and that is more than what I can say for that dwarf. He seemed concerned for your well-being; speak with him before I do and sway him to see reason. If he does not wish for my aid during this Quest then I will gladly not give it but I will not allow him to leave without agreeing to hand over what is _rightfully_ mine,” he said in an oddly dead voice. His eery blue his slid open once more and when they found the hobbit, Bilbo could see that he had done away with any expression of emotion.

“What am I, collateral? He will simply yell at me the way he’s going to yell at you,” he muttered sullenly, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He had been able to make Thorin see reason in the past, though, and perhaps that counted for something. “Do you know what, _fine_. I’ll speak with him but I am _warning_ you, do not expect anything out of him! You are both equally stubborn fools and the fact that you need me to be a mediator shows how much like children you both are. Goodness gracious me, I’ve never missed home so much in all my life. Take me to him but if you bind my wrists, I swear by all the Valar you won’t be seeing those blasted gems!” He waggled his finger up toward the elf, watching a thick dark eyebrow raise in return, not impressed.

 _Oh,_ if Bilbo _could,_ he would certainly impress the boots right off of him and Thorin both.

“You will not be bound,” Thranduil returned drily before he swept by the hobbit, moving to the edge of his ridiculous platform. “Guard! Take the Halfling to Thorin Oakenshield so that he may speak with him. _Do not allow the Halfling to speak with any others. Once they are finished, find him a high cell and feed him a warm meal; if the dwarf is not combative, send him to me._ ”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. If he expected Thorin to not be combative, he had another thing coming! At least the hobbit could finally get a meal in, though, and he was very much already looking forward to _that_. As his stomach growled its eagerness, an elven guard approached and gestured for him to follow along; he hastened to do so but not before looking back over his shoulder at the stuffy king.

“It’s very rude to speak a language someone can’t understand in front of them, you know!” he hollered, watching Thranduil’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly in response. Bilbo turned back and trotted after the guard, holding his snickers in to himself. _Eru save him from the fools of this world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo 'the Bane of Kings' Baggins.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	4. Chapter 4

The trek to the cells the Company was being held in was a long, winding one and Bilbo didn’t know why it surprised him. He simply tried to keep his feet below him as he followed the elf guard, chancing a peek now and then at their surroundings. As much as he tried to convince himself he hated Thranduil’s Halls, he could not actually do so and a growing niggling in his heart was attempting to convince him to ask for a gander around. The hobbit wouldn’t do such a thing, of course, but he had developed a soft spot for the realms of elves.

A river flowed through and around the kingdom, treating Bilbo to lovely waterfalls here and there as they walked; daylight filtered in through trees and from great windows, casting twinkling rainbows across the flowing water. Of course the further down they went, the sights stopped being as captivating and the paths began to intermingle as buildings came closer together. Eventually the soft, white light from elven torches took over the sunlight filtering through and it began to grow eerily quiet.

When Bilbo descended stairs in front of the elf, however, it wasn’t long before he heard the guttural language that was Khuzdul spoken in low tones. He lifted his gaze and saw a line of cells along raised platforms and knew thirteen surly dwarves were sitting in them; they were attempting to keep their voices quiet even though not _one_ person in the city likely understood them. _Dwarves_.

The guard led Bilbo to the northern line of cells and he was momentarily confused as he noticed the first two they passed were empty. The third, however, housed Bofur and the moment the dwarf caught sight of him, he nearly tumbled from the cot he had been sitting on, only barely managing to keep hold of his hat.

“Bilbo!” he cried out with relief, a familiar dimpled grin overtaking his face as he rushed forward. “Are you alright? What’d that tree-“

“Did you say Bilbo? Bilbo!” a pleased blond called and the hobbit could see Fili pressing himself as tight as he could to the bars of his cell next to Bofur’s to peer at him. “Did he harm you?”

“Bilbo!” a brunet called out cheerfully and the hobbit groaned as he was pushed impatiently along. “What’d that traitor want? Are they throwing you in a cell now, too?”

“Hush!” Bilbo hissed, waggling his finger at Fili and Kili as he passed. “I’ll speak with you lot soon enough, I’m being herded to Thorin before, _yes_ , I’ll be tossed into my own cell. Just keep quiet and try not to insult anyone more than you already have: we may just make it out alive! I promise you, I’m _fine_. Yes _yes,_ stop pushing me, thank you!” He glowered at the elf that kept nudging him forward by his shoulder, slapping his hand away, hearing the three members of the Company behind him snicker.

The hobbit had to tell off half of the Company before the elf led him to another set of stairs that went even further down - he could already tell it was quite a lot darker in the hall below them and his stomach sank. For wanting to ‘treat’ with Thorin, the king was doing all he could to make the dwarf not open to the idea; he was off by himself and couldn’t likely communicate with his Company without hollering. And Bilbo knew he wouldn’t simply out of paranoia.

He descended the stairs and when he reached the stone floor, the elf pointed toward the back row of cells before he turned and began to guard the hall. Because Bilbo could do _so_ very much on his own! The hobbit grumbled as he stalked down the hall and peered into the last cell on the left lit mostly by the torch hanging on the wall across from it. Thorin was sitting on the edge of his cot with his forearms on his knees and his hands hanging loosely in between them; his face was hidden by waves of dark hair but when he heard feet come to a stop, he lifted furious blue eyes. His anger immediately melted away and he stood so suddenly Bilbo flinched.

Thorin moved to the bars of his cell, wrapping his hands around two in a white-knuckled grip as his eyes roamed over the hobbit. “Bilbo! Are you well? What did he want with you?” he demanded, continuing to inspect every inch of him. “Are they not placing you in a cell along with the rest of us?” When he finally lifted his gaze back to the hobbit’s, a fierce frown had taken over his face and he extended his hand toward Bilbo.

Who hesitated. The look Thorin was leveling him with had him slightly concerned for his own safety; not that the king would hurt him, no, but that he would paw at him with too much vigor in an attempt to make sure he hadn’t been stabbed or some such nonsense. When the dwarf began to look distressed, Bilbo groaned and took a step forward, snatching his hand up before he could begin to do such a thing. They had a brief moment of struggle that came with much squeezing: on Thorin’s part for the hobbit to let him go, and on Bilbo’s to keep a firm grip.

“I’m _fine,_ ” he hissed out, sending a hot glare up toward the king. “I _promise_ you, I’m fine. What did you do to get yourself thrown down here?” At that, Thorin’s eyes became hooded and he didn’t _need_ to say anything. “Oh, _Thorin,_ we’re trying to get out of here! Stop flinging insults at them left and right while we are. That elf thought I would have more sense than the rest of you combined and he was bloody right! You lot are going to keep us here with your foolishness. Thranduil may be an arse but at least he wants to speak with you. That’s why I’m down here, he’s hoping I can relay his offer before you go to him yours-“

“ _Offer?_ ” Thorin spat in interruption. “Offer? He wishes to treat; our freedom in exchange for those jewels. He would have me swear a promise for our freedom when we have done nothing to deserve _capture_. He can declare trespassing but we know he is only doing so to hold us at ransom. I will not accept any _offer_ he has for me, Master Baggins, I will only accept the right to leave without bartering for it!”

Bilbo eyed the dwarf, tugging himself back and moving out of reach. “Thorin,” he mumbled, raising his hands and raking them slowly down along his face. “I understand why you’re angry, _trust me,_ I do. But it’s not going to do anything for us if he refuses to let us go without a promise of his gems back! If you are going to come to a stalemate, we will all be stuck in here and we will _miss_ Durin’s Day. Are you so willing to let that happen?”

The king turned away with a growl, Khuzdul leaving his throat with some ferocity. “I will not barter for our freedom when it should not be in his hands to begin with. I care nothing for his desires and why should I? He led my people to _death,_ I will not come to an agreement with that filth! He will seek to undermine this Quest in any way that he can if he thinks it will earn him his gems back and I will _not_ allow him.”

“He’s actually offered _aid_ for this Quest,” Bilbo huffed. “He’s offered his aid, Thorin, to kill that dragon! I’d say he’s actually willing to go to lengths for _you_ to get his gems back and do you know what? They rather sound like they belong with him to _begin_ with. If he’s offering elvish bows and blades to help us only in exchange for a _necklace,_ I’d say you’re a fool to not take that offer. Is your pride important enough to you that you’d make everything we’ve gone through meaningless? Does your pride mean more than Erebor? Truly? Because if it does, then I severely misjudged you and I will regret following such a _fool!_ ”

Thorin laughed as he turned back to the hobbit. “Is that what you think I am? A fool? I am a fool for not wishing to make a deal for our lives so an elf king can have his gems? That is the worth he is placing on _us,_ Master Baggins, and I refuse to hear it. The only offer I will accept is his offer of our freedom at no cost! I will not buy back our lives from him! He once held the lives of my _people_ in his hands and you know he chose to see us fall rather than offer aid in the way of _food_ or _shelter_. I will never trust _King Thranduil_ to help us nor should you. He has no honor in him.”

Bilbo watched as Thorin threw himself back on the cot and sent his own eyes skyward. “Then you can say goodbye to Erebor,” he said quietly, looking back at the dwarf, receiving a glower for his troubles. “You can, Thorin. You won’t step foot in that Mountain if you hold onto the grudges of your past - you will only take away your own future by doing so. Yours peoples’ futures, as well. That’s all you gain out of being a stubborn clothead. I truly _do_ understand why you feel this way, I do, but sometimes one has to set aside anger for the greater good.”

“I will not make a deal with him,” Thorin muttered scornfully, shaking his head as if trying to stave off a fly. “I will not, Bilbo. We will find another way to leave this accursed place but it will not be by buying our lives from him when he has shown little regard for them before.”

The hobbit let out a long sigh as he watched the king who was resolutely not looking back at him. He grumbled as he rocked forward on his toes, hoping he would get a chance to say ‘I told you so’ to that great pompous elf somewhere above them. Bilbo glanced down the hall and at the elf guard who could be made of stone if he didn’t look too closely; from Thranduil’s words, he would only be led away when he was finished speaking with the dwarf. He moved forward and slowly sat down, wincing at the uncomfortably hard ground beneath his rear - the cot Thorin was on hardly looked any better.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo huffed, dropping his head forward onto the cool bars in front of him. “I’m just going to sit here until they drag me away to my own cell if that’s alright with you. Not exactly how I pictured this journey ending, locked in a dungeon for the rest of my life; think I’d rather end up a snack for Smaug, to be perfectly honest. It’s too bad for the rest of the Company, as well, I’m sure this isn’t how they pictured it either. Though, of course I’m sure their families will understand, if they ever get word. And your sister will be _thrilled-_ “

“Burglar,” Thorin interrupted, sounding more than annoyed, “we will find another way. We will not die here but I will not speak anymore on bartering with that _elf_.” The dwarf lifted his gaze from where it had dropped to the ground and steely blue eyes met the hobbit before strangely, they softened. “Have hope: we will leave this place.”

Bilbo snorted. “I’d love to hear _how_ we’re going to do that. Considering all of us will be locked up with no means of escape, leaving a _deal_ the only way to ensure our freedom and you not _making_ that deal, I’d say we’ve got a long road ahead of us. Do you know, eventually the rest of us will start pleading and making _deals_ of our own and then you’ll be the only dwarf in Mirkwood! Kept around for entertainment because you’re too stubborn to swallow your pride,” he said conversationally. “Thranduil will take great pleasure in it, I imagine.”

“And you would enjoy that yourself, wouldn’t you,” Thorin did not ask, his voice dry. “You seem to take pleasure in both being right and the idea of being right.”

“Well, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t,” Bilbo returned, smiling as the king shook his head. “Except you, considering you’ve been wrong in just about everything. You obviously haven’t experienced the pleasure of it yourself.”

Thorin sighed as he sent his eyes skyward. “I believe I was right when declaring you a burden. Despite your courage, you are still a burden,” he muttered as Bilbo huffed in mock offense. “I see not how that will change.”

“You are absolutely right. Should’ve just let you lose your head, then you could have died knowing just _how_ right you were,” he said, flapping his lips as he let out a sigh of his own. The hobbit watched as Thorin grunted in response, standing from his cot and moving to the bars of his cell. He slid down, sitting with his back against them next to Bilbo and turned his head to look at the hobbit.

“I would have been glad to enter Mahal’s Halls knowing such a thing,” he replied, drawing a chuckle from the burglar. “Did the elf speak any other words beyond his attempts at bargaining?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Not really. We mostly bonded over our mutual dislike of you,” he said, giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Like he said, he thought I might be more open when it came to our purpose here. He didn’t seem particularly happy at being unsuccessful but I _did_ sign your contract. I hope you know he’s going to pull you out of your cell and force you to speak with him. What will you say?”

Thorin tilted his head back against the bars of his cell and looked toward the ceiling. “I will tell him what I have told you: there will be no deal. Beyond that, I will save you from the improper nature of my words,” he murmured. “I can hear the Company above. If you are placed near them, ask each member to be alert for any way in which we can escape this place; they must let us leave our cells at some point. There did not seem to be a great many elves down here though I do not know where they’ve placed our weapons and packs.”

The hobbit watched the dwarf as he spoke, sighing to himself. It would be a futile attempt, he knew, to remind Thorin that they would be handed their belongings back if they simply made a _deal_. Save him from the stubbornness of dwarves! It was a wonder they had survived this long. Bilbo mumbled to himself, dragging the back of his hand across his nose and nodding his assent.

“Yes, alright,” he agreed, looking toward the elf guard once more. “I feel as if you’re reaching a bit but I’ll pass the message along. Thorin, ah… oh, never mind. I think they plan on feeding us soon enough so I’ll be off to take advantage if you don’t mind. Can you at least promise me you won’t get yourself killed when you speak to Thranduil? It’ll make swallowing each bite of my dinner easier, at any rate.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo and offered an amused smile. “We would not want you to have any difficulties eating,” he said, earning himself an eye-roll. “I will not get myself killed, burglar. Go and have your meal. We will find a way out and we will make it to Erebor before Durin’s Day. Speak no more to elves if you do not have to.”

Bilbo watched blue eyes, open with the trust he held for his hobbit. And said hobbit felt his stomach hit the ground because he knew what he had to try to ensure their release from Mirkwood; if Thorin were to find out, there would be no more trusting Bilbo. He nodded jerkily at the king and pushed himself to his feet, clearing his throat.

“They are rather fun to anger, I have to say, much like you dwarves,” he commented as he straightened his filthy clothing out. “So that will require a great amount of self-control on my part but I’ll do my best. Take care of yourself, yes?” The dwarf stood once more as well and turned to face the hobbit, sweeping his gaze along his person; he was still not mortally wounded.

“And you,” Thorin responded, reaching out and clamping his hand down on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Attempt to not antagonize our captors.”

Bilbo laughed. “Do you know what, I’ll promise you that when you can promise me the same,” he said, waggling his finger under the dwarf’s nose before he patted his hand. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again but I’ll speak with the Company while I’m up there. And I’ll pray to Eru and Mahal and everyone else while I’m at it to send some luck our way. So, ah, yes. Yes. Hopefully we’ll speak again soon.” The hobbit backed away and sent Thorin a quick smile before he turned on his heel and scooted down the darkened hall.

“Stay safe, Bilbo,” Thorin called after him - it sounded like he believed the hobbit would attempt to do anything but that. He was clearly mixing the two of them up, in Bilbo’s opinion.

“Yes yes,” he muttered to himself as he approached the guard. The elf turned to him and after a moment of eyeing him critically, he motioned for the hobbit to lead and they ascended the stairs. As they reached the top two, Bilbo cleared his throat pointedly and stopped walking, glancing up at the unnecessarily tall individual who looked ready to pull a dagger on him. He rolled his eyes. “Tell your king that Thorin won’t treat but he can try to get him to all he wants. After he’s been barked at by that dwarf and boots him back into his cell, can you please inform him I wish to speak with him? I have an offer myself he may be willing to accept. Just- just let him know, please?”

The elf stared down his nose at the hobbit before he inclined his head. “I will pass your words along, Halfling,” he replied, motioning Bilbo forward once more.

“It’s hobbit! If you can’t say Bilbo or Master Baggins, at least say _hobbit_. I’m half of nothing, thank you very much and that is most rude to imply. Hobbit! Hob _bit,_ ” he scolded, waving his finger above his shoulder as he turned on his heel and began to stomp along the platform. “I don’t go around calling you pointy-ears or- or- well, I don’t know what, but at least I refer to you elves as _elves!_ ” He grumbled to himself as he heard a sigh above him.

“Master Hobbit,” the guard monotoned nearly as well as his king. “ _If the king wishes not to speak with a combative dwarf, he will not want to speak with a combative Halfling, Halfling._ ”

Bilbo laughed, glancing over his shoulder and squinting at the elf. Now that he looked, the guard seemed quite young, though he couldn’t compare to hobbits’ ages with certainty. “Oh you believe me to be combative, do you?” he asked, watching the elf freeze to his spot as if he had suddenly grown roots. “Oh yes, _pointy-ears,_ insulting me in your language won’t work out so well for you lot. Not that it wasn’t obvious, of course, but if you think _me_ combative, you’ve got another thing coming! Anyway, yes, please and thank you for passing my words along. Do you know what sort of food we’ll be fed? I’m alright with a lack of meat but unless you want a baker’s dozen of angry dwarves that will make your life very unpleasant indeed, I’d suggest something with it. Is this one alright?” He pointed at an empty cell, glancing inside before he shrugged, wandering in and sitting down on the cot. Yes, very uncomfortable.

The elf took a moment to even appear in his line of view again but when he did, he was staring at the hobbit as if he had grown an extra few heads. At the innocent smile he received, the guard gave an entirely unflattering eye-roll and closed the cell door with some force, locking it. He stared at Bilbo before he turned and began to stalk off - and though the hobbit knew Thranduil would be informed shortly of his ability to understand Sindarin, he very much saw the elf’s quirking lips, thank you.

——

After two hours of impatiently waiting for dinner, curled up on his cot and listening to his stomach make a fuss, Bilbo finally perked up when a guard stopped at his cell. He had shared only a few brief words with the Company given guards were patrolling often enough to not allow more than that and he, unfortunately, could not speak Khuzdul. Though he was fairly sure the dwarves didn’t need Thorin’s words to ‘find a way to escape’ to spur them into doing so; he was positive they already were on their own.

Bilbo sat up as the elf, this time a red-haired female guard, opened his cell door and tilted her head forward. “My king will speak with you now,” she informed him and the hobbit promptly hurried to his feet and out of the cell. “You will dine with him.”

The hobbit knew perfectly well why he would be treated to a meal with the king and found it most amusing. He followed the guard once more through the kingdom, over winding paths and eventually into halls made of lovely marble; wherever they were going wasn’t near Thranduil’s throne. It took much longer to get there and by the time the elf led him into a large and beautifully decorated dining room, Bilbo was huffing and puffing. She hadn’t bothered to care about his significantly shorter stride and even after so much traveling, a _quick_ speed was still not in the hobbit’s vocabulary.

“My king,” the elf greeted as Bilbo moved to her side. “The hobbit, as you’ve asked.” She didn’t wait for a response and simply turned on her heel, striding from the room, her long hair billowing behind her. Bilbo watched her go before he swung his gaze to the elf king.

Thranduil was standing at a darkly stained wooden dining table that was set for two, pouring wine into goblets; he gestured forward and Bilbo sighed. He may have been able to sit on the chair but the table was still absurdly high for him and he was never a fan of feeling like a fauntling at supper. The hobbit pulled himself into the chair and swung his legs as he looked at the king who was staring right back at him, a certain tension to his brow. An altogether _familiar_ tension.

“Thank you for asking me to dine with you? I imagine the only reason you have is because it went so well with Thorin,” Bilbo ventured and chuckled when Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I do believe I told you so. He was just as open with me, I assure you. Oh, this looks wonderful! Better than anything we’ve had since Rivendell, I’d say! Have you fed my friends yet?”

The elf sat next to him as Bilbo inspected what looked like cuts of boar, heaping amounts of steamed vegetables, and a platter of herb-covered red potatoes. “They are receiving their meals now,” he said with no small amount of disdain. “He is yet a fool and he will remain so for the rest of his short life. My guard informed me that you wish to present an offer though I find myself unable to believe you have anything _to_ offer me. He informed me you understand Sindarin as well; a fact that you left out in our previous conversation. I see why you thought I should not know but dare I ask why you let it slip?” He picked up his utensils but he didn’t start in on his supper, which meant that Bilbo could not.

He squinted at the king. “Because I feel as if it would make me a sneak to hide that fact and I’d really rather you begin to trust me. You’re going to have to if we make a deal, you know. And, er, I’m going to be offering you exactly what you want,” he said, shrugging a shoulder and lifting his own utensils, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Thranduil’s mouth twisted and Bilbo was graced with an obvious desire to roll his eyes; apparently elf kings were above actually doing so. The stuffy elf speared a steamed carrot and the hobbit happily followed.

“Thank you. What did Thorin say?”

“I will not repeat his words,” Thranduil returned drily, sending a flat gaze Bilbo’s way when he snorted. “He refused to treat for my aid as you suspected he might but he wished not to hear of _any_ bargain for his freedom. The dwarf made it clear he would rather rot in my dungeon than come to a simple arrangement: my gems for his and his _Company’s_ freedom. What can you offer me, Master Baggins, that he cannot? Will you steal what I wish for from under his nose?”

Bilbo was perfectly aware of the sarcasm in Thranduil’s voice but he smiled anyway. “Yes,” he returned, cutting into the boar with fervor. “I will. Erebor’s treasury is, from what I understand, quite massive? If we are to survive our, er, _journey_ through the Mountain, I imagine I’ll have plenty of time to find a necklace. Part of my role in this Quest is to be light on my feet and I will put that to good use to find those gems of yours. On top of that, I have a claim to that gold. A fourteenth share, in fact. I’m a hobbit and hobbits want for nothing in the Shire; we leave gold and gems and precious metals to the Big Folk of this world. I have no need for any of it myself and I will give it to you with those gems in exchange for our freedom, our weapons, our packs, and safe passage through Mirkwood.” He stuffed a large piece of the boar into his mouth and began to chew, humming his approval.

Thranduil stared at him as he ate, no longer making any move to do so himself. The hobbit suspected he was looking for deception and given he offered none, simply continued to enjoy his supper. It wasn’t until he reached for his wine goblet that the elf leaned back in his chair and arched his eyebrows.

“If you steal from Thorin Oakenshield you will no longer be in his good graces,” he stated. “You would risk an enemy in the dwarf for this? Our conversation alone is likely enough for that fool to declare you a traitor and to cast you aside.” He took up his own goblet, swirling the wine as he studied the hobbit.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Which is why he won’t know what we actually spoke of when you free us. You are going to be convinced, by my charms, that you’ve done wrong in the past- ah ah, let me finish!” he scolded, waggling his finger at the elf as he opened his mouth to protest. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s the reason you’ve decided to set us free. Given your wrongs and your wish to not have a discord with Thorin if he retakes his Mountain, considering you’ll be neighbors, you, _in good faith,_ will let us all go and only ask for him to treat with you once we’ve killed Smaug and he’s officially the king of Erebor. You will implore your desire to remain allies, even if he doesn’t wish for your help in retaking the Mountain, and hope that your show of _good faith_ will convince him to speak with you more on your gems. If he decides he still doesn’t want to hand them over, well, it won’t matter, because you’ll be receiving them from me, won’t you? Even if it takes me some time, you will receive that necklace and you most certainly will receive the gold.”

“And why should I trust you, Master Baggins?” Thranduil inquired with a slight smirk over his goblet before he took a sip of the wine. “Why should I trust that you will not betray me once you are free from here? I must give you my _blind_ faith for such an agreement: how do I know that once you are free from here, you will not tell Oakenshield? How do I know you will not leave me empty-handed?”

“You don’t,” Bilbo admitted with an easy shrug. He knew he had snared the elf the moment he mentioned he would receive his share of gold - it mattered little what he said anymore. The glint in Thranduil’s eye spoke clearly of his desire and the hobbit wondered if the king realized how truly similar he was to any dwarf. “But considering our main goal here is to uproot and slay a dragon, I’d say I’m really the one risking quite a lot. I’m not looking forward to coming face to face with Smaug but I’m willing to make this agreement with you so I can go and do just that. Really, I think I’m on the _bad_ end of the bargain. I swore I would help Thorin and help I will; you happen to be a snag in our plans and I consider myself to still be helping by ridding ourselves of you.”

Thranduil was apparently going to let his dinner go cold but Bilbo would allow no such thing and continued to munch on his food as he was closely inspected. The hobbit - _dragon_ \- could smell the want on the elf and much to his displeasure, it was nearly overtaking the scent of his food. Ah, gold; he did not miss it. It made a fool of nearly all that came across it and had inspired more death than it ever had life, as far as he was concerned. He could only hope that when he smelled the want on Thorin it wouldn’t take on a sour edge, much like meat that had turned. What could he do as a _hobbit_ to help if it did?

“And the dwarf? Do you think he will believe my sudden show of good faith?” Thranduil asked - a genuine question of concern. “Will he not suspect something is amiss after you’ve spoken to me and I release you with no assurances of receiving that which is mine?”

Bilbo shook his head, staring into his wine cup as he took a drink from it. “No, I doubt that very much,” he answered, setting his goblet aside and clasping his hands together. “I don’t think Thorin would ever suspect I might ‘betray’ him in any sort of way. I’ve saved his life on more than one occasion now, actually, and we’re… friends, I would say. The only thing he loses in this is the ability to have one over on you by keeping those gems and perhaps a momentary wound to his pride when he realizes they are gone. So, he really loses _nothing_ and gains everything from this agreement; hopefully by the time he realizes it has occurred, I’ll be very far from here. Though I may still hear him shouting across Middle Earth at me.” He smiled wryly as Thranduil tilted his head, considering him as if he hadn’t seen him before that very moment.

“You risk your friendship with him,” the elf said as he set his goblet aside and leaned closer to the hobbit. “You risk his wroth even if you are to return to the West. If the dwarf were to become privy to our arrangement before you have left his side, he will not allow you to part on good terms. You may find yourself in Erebor’s dungeons.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Bilbo assured. He had his own piece of gold he could rely on but the elf hardly needed to know that little fact. “I’m prepared for that sort of thing if it were to happen. I’ve always been resourceful and I find being a hobbit only helps me in that regard. What do you say?”

The corners of Thranduil’s lips turned up. “I say that we are at an agreement, Master Baggins,” he replied, inclining his head and lifting his goblet toward Bilbo. The hobbit picked his up and clinked it to the king’s.

“And I am glad to hear it,” he said with a smile before he took his drink. Bilbo was of _course_ glad, but he knew he could predict nothing once they arrived at Erebor; if everything went as he hoped, he would have little to be concerned over. If they survived Smaug and it took a turn for the worse, he only hoped he could survive Thorin Oakenshield.

——

Bilbo was allowed to walk with the Company when they were escorted through Thranduil’s Halls at the break of the next day and he found he didn’t have the energy to spare for telling them to _shut up._ They were muttering suspiciously and in questioning the elven guard, insulting aplenty. The hobbit had more important things to worry about: making sure the conversation between two kings went smoothly and the fact that Erebor would only be _days_ away the moment they left the Forest. He hoped Thorin would have enough sense to stop at Lake-town to resupply before he herded them into the Mountain.

The Company was led through the kingdom and the hobbit was sure they walked for an hour before they finally arrived at their apparent destination. It was at the end of a massive hall made of arched alabaster pillars and was clearly on the ground floor given the dead leaves and dirt trailing along the stone beneath Bilbo’s feet. They were stopped in front of a closed stone gate and when the hobbit took in a deep breath, he could smell wet dirt and pine. The roar of the River was much more pronounced and he found he had never been so eager to see water in all his life.

Thranduil was standing in front of the gate with four guards behind him. He looked as magisterial as he ever did but as his eyes flicked in Bilbo’s direction, they flashed with amusement, the menace. The dwarves’ volume rose as they were corralled together and Thorin stepped forward, looking as if he were prepared to fight to his death despite no weapons or armor.

Bilbo sent his eyes skyward.

“What is going on?” Thorin demanded. “Why have you led us here?”

“You are being freed, Master Dwarf,” Thranduil intoned as he looked down his nose at the king. The Company immediately fell silent and gaped at the elf; half looked confused and the other looked as if they were expecting a trap. It didn’t surprise the hobbit even a smidgen. “This gate will lead you onto a path that follows the Forest River; follow it and you will arrive in Lake-town well before nightfall. I suggest you stop there rather than head straight to your Mountain; your supplies dwindled through the Forest.”

Bilbo clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on his toes as a stifling silence greeted the elf king’s words. Thorin’s face had grown stony and he was staring at Thranduil as if he thought the sheer force of his gaze would force the elf to be cowed and make him take back his lies. Well. He hadn’t lied quite yet, at least.

“Why?” Thorin finally ground out, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides. “Why would you release us now? You threatened leaving us to rot only yesterday. What ruse is this?”

“I’d not trust anything this elf says! He would have us turn our backs on him with no weapons or protection? He means to murder us the moment we leave!” Gloin barked as he sent a ferocious glare toward Thranduil and shook a threatening fist. The rest of the Company erupted into angry outbursts at his words and Bilbo groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, for Eru’s _sake!_ ” he cried when they lapsed into ‘tree-shagger’ territory, throwing his arms in the air. The elves, to their credit, were simply staring at the Company as if they were a group of misbehaving dwarflings; which they _were_. “He’s not going to _kill_ us, you ridiculous oafs! Shush! _Thorin_ , by all the Valar, shut them up, please and _thank_ you!” He glared at the king as his eyes found the hobbit before he turned to his Company and shouted an order in Khuzdul that immediately quieted them.

Thranduil arched his eyebrows and smiled in mild amusement when Thorin looked back to him. “This is no ruse,” he answered as if he hadn’t just been threatened himself. “The Halfling requested to speak with me this evening last. Shortly after you took your… leave, I sent for him and against my better judgments, I’ve found wisdom in his suggestion.”

Bilbo really could not help his flush as thirteen heads snapped toward him. “Er,” he managed, glancing at Thorin, whose eyes grew stormy. “Well, _you_ weren’t going to speak civilly with him, thought I’d give it one more shot! When you _try,_ Thorin, you might find you can have a conversation, simply one person to another, royal nonsense be bothered. I don’t know about you lot but I’ve gone much too far and been through too much to miss Durin’s Day; our Quest is for the good of all, not just you. Killing Smaug and taking back Erebor changes the entire East. Sometimes you must swallow your pride or- or, well, allow a mediator to speak for you.” He puffed up as the dwarf stepped closer to him.

“I told you not to speak to anymore elves,” Thorin said quietly. “It was not your right to speak for me. I made it clear I would not bargain with-“

“And you needn’t,” Thranduil interrupted, his tone bored. When he snared the dwarf’s attention again, he clasped his hands together and his dark eyebrows came together in a frown. “I will not bargain with you, Thorin Oakenshield. You are free to leave my Halls. The Halfling makes his opinions well known and I found sense in his words; I hope that you can, as well. He is right. Our worlds will change if you succeed in reclaiming Erebor: trade _must_ be opened if you are to survive and thrive as your people once did. Trade between elves, dwarves, and Men. Dale can be rebuilt and the people of Lake-town can once again inhabit it if the threat of the dragon is no more.

You wish not for my aid and I will gladly not risk the lives of my people against the serpent; I have but only one request. If you succeed and rule Erebor, after your people have returned to the Mountain, I ask that you remember this moment and speak with me about the Gems of Lasgalen. They belong with elves, not dwarves, but much blood has already been shed over them; I will not allow anymore to. Can you give me your word as King Under the Mountain that we will speak one day of the fate of that necklace?”

Bilbo picked through Thranduil’s words, attempting to find any way for Thorin to twist them enough to send them right back to the dungeon; he couldn’t find one. Not unless the dwarf invented it. He swallowed as he watched the king’s profile, ignoring the whispers from the Company behind him. Thorin was staring at the elf king with an entirely unreadable expression and it was a good long moment before he crossed his arms in proper dwarven fashion and turned his chin up.

“And why should I trust that this is still not a ruse? You would have me believe you have changed your mind so abruptly?” he asked, voice laced with derision. “For _trade?_ For the good of _Men?_ No. I cannot believe such a thing after what you have already done to my people.”

Thranduil closed his eyes for a long enough moment that the hobbit knew he was attempting to find patience. And given how he shifted his weight from one foot to another, he was steeling himself, as well. If Bilbo weren’t so concerned about it all going to pot, he might laugh at how very tween-like it was. But he was _entirely_ concerned and fitfully wrung his hands together, looking between the two blasted kings that would surely be the end of him.

“As I have said,” Thranduil bit out, sliding his eyes open to rest on Thorin once more, “I found wisdom in the Halfling’s words. We do not enjoy each other, Master Dwarf, but we must tolerate one another if we are to remain allies for the good of our people. I did not do… right by Thror as an ally when that serpent came and I do recognize that; nothing can be done for it now but I would see us on better terms. I will not risk an enemy in you and if you should need my aid, I am offering it. You have made it clear you wish not to take it but it is in good faith that I do this; I hope, as one _king_ to another, you find sense in Master Baggins’ words as well.” He turned his head and looked at the elf guards to his left, giving a graceful nod.

They turned as one and marched left through the archway of a room that was perhaps supposed to be a post for the gate. Not a moment later and they returned with numerous bundles - the Company’s packs - which were deposited before the elves again disappeared through the archway. If Thorin wasn’t convinced that this weren’t a ruse by then, Bilbo hoped that as the elves brought three large bundles out and rolled them open on the ground to reveal their weapons, _that_ might just do the trick.

The Company broke out into a quick slew of Khuzdul as they approached their belongings with caution, as if they thought it might hold a trap yet. Thorin’s eyes didn’t leave Thranduil’s, however, and even as his dwarves began to pluck up what belonged to them, he continued to level the elf with a critical eye. Bilbo swung his gaze between both of them before he sighed, moving forward and nudging Thorin with his arm. It was much like trying to move stone.

“Be as angry at me as you want,” Bilbo said loftily as the king finally turned a glare on him. “I’m quite alright with it. If speaking with him as the third party that I am gets us to Erebor in time for Durin’s Day, I’m very glad to have done it. I told you I understand how you feel but given that I am not you, I hardly have the bias you’re swimming around in, do I? We’ve got safe passage through Mirkwood and plenty of daylight left to take advantage of; are you coming?” He arched his eyebrows at the dwarf as he backed away two paces, then turned and searched for his pack. He took it up with a sigh of relief, slinging it over his shoulders, glad for its familiar weight.

“An intriguing creature,” Thranduil murmured, earning himself a scowl from the hobbit. “Forgive me for saying so, Master Baggins, but I hope we never meet again, as intriguing as you are. It is not often I allow one to lecture me in my own kingdom.”

Bilbo squinted up at the elf. “I think you should let it happen more often, actually,” he sniffed. “And I hope to never meet you again, either! But thank you for speaking with me and finding some sense of your own. Couldn’t be the only one with any, could I? Wouldn’t want the world to work in a proper manner, that would be asking far too- e-excuse me! _Thorin!_ ” He scoffed as Thorin clamped his hand around his upper arm and steered him away from the elf, a black scowl twisting his own features. The hobbit tried not to trip over his own feet and it was only when he was righted that he noticed the dwarf had been spurring him on - in a most rude fashion - to follow the Company. They were already heading single-file out of the kingdom, only Dwalin and Balin lingering behind to stay with their king. Apparently they let the theory of being stabbed in the back go and were now eager to be rid of the elf king’s Halls.

Thorin retrieved his own pack and Orcrist, examining the sword for a moment before he looked back to the elf. He inclined his head. “We will speak,” he allowed in a neutral tone. He didn’t seem keen on expanding his words any further and turned, beginning to march toward the gate himself. Bilbo cleared his throat as Thorin’s fierce gaze settled on him and as he passed, he all but growled in the hobbit’s ear, “As will _we._ ”

As Bilbo wondered if Smaug was worth all the trouble of a dwarf king, he shot a harried glance back toward the elf and only received a quirk of an eyebrow in response. The hobbit grumbled and hastened to follow the Company; as soon as every member was beyond the cobbled path and had stepped foot onto soft earth, the towering stone gates to Thranduil’s Halls shut behind them. Much to Bilbo’s dismay, his unease only increased at the ominous sound and he vowed to stay away from Thorin as much as he could until the dwarf had time to calm himself. Of course he _had_ also just saved his hairy behind and the hobbit felt his own spike of irritation at the thought; he was going to be hollered at for doing it rather than thanked.

Well. If Thorin weren’t armed at the time of his hollering, Bilbo might just have to put a well-placed fist to his pointy _nose_ , thank you very _much_.

——

By Balin’s estimate, the Company could expect to reach Lake-town an hour or so before dusk. Walking along the River and through trees made for a rather pleasant sight - until the clouds began to build. A light breeze began to turn into a wind that bit at the hobbit’s cheeks. If it wasn’t clear that late fall had arrived, it was blatantly obvious when a light rain caused Bilbo to begin shivering; he was not fond of the cold. He supposed trading a dungeon for a rainstorm was fair enough as he couldn’t catch a break no matter what he did.

That was even more apparent when Thorin Oakenshield fell back from Dwalin’s side and into step with the hobbit. The king hadn’t immediately started in on him and Bilbo suspected he wished to be far enough away from Mirkwood before he began to lecture him on daring to speak with elves. Not one person in the Company believed they were actually free of the Woodland elves quite yet but they could only guess at how long they would be followed.

Thorin had guessed two hours. “Tell me why you chose to speak with that elf. You were told to speak to none if you did not have to; you did not have to. Tell me why you _requested_ to speak with him,” he ordered without preamble. “Tell me why you believed this to be your place.”

Bilbo stifled a sigh. “I _believe_ I already explained this to you,” he answered, glancing sidelong at the dwarf. He received no verbal answer but he certainly received a physical one: Thorin grew prickly, clenched his hands into fists, and pursed his lips into a thin line. “I told you I’m alright with you being angry with me because once we leave these trees, we will have a clear view of Erebor for the first time in this entire journey. We wouldn’t if we did it your way and simply crossed our fingers in hopes that we might find a way to escape.”

“It was not your place,” Thorin bit, finally looking at the hobbit with an ugly scowl. “You do not speak for this Company. You do not speak for _me,_ Master Baggins. You forced me into an arrangement that I wished to have no part of. I could do nothing but tell him I would speak with him on the jewels he so desires. I had already spoken to you on-“

“Yes, you certainly spoke to me about how you very much didn’t wish to make a _bargain_ with him,” Bilbo interrupted, shaking his head in exasperation. “You _didn’t_ make a bargain with him, Thorin, the only _request_ there was was asking you to _think_ about speaking with him if you live. Goodness gracious, you didn’t agree to give him those jewels and he didn’t explicitly ask for them! He simply let you go in hopes that you do the right thing. I sat down with Thranduil because you two were acting like _children!_ And do you know what? _You_ are the more stubborn one as he saw sense in what I suggested! Can you truly not yourself?”

Thorin stopped walking, which then required Bilbo to stop, and the hobbit groaned. “I may see sense in your words but it was not your place to _suggest_ them. I informed you he has no honor in him and this does not come from a wish to see us as _allies_. He has planned to undermine us in some way and you have given him the opportunity to!” he barked, raising his voice as Bilbo threw his arms in the air and dropped his hands atop his curly hair. “Hobbit-“

" _Dwarf_. You are the most paranoid individual I have met in all my life! He is not seeking to undermine us! In fact, he was rather of the same mind as _you_ when I first began speaking with him and it took, _as he said,_ quite the lecture to even begin to listen to me!” Bilbo cried in interruption, stepping closer to Thorin and lifting one hand to wave his finger under the king’s nose. He was on the receiving end of a threatening glare but he was hardly afraid of the ridiculous dwarf. “You need to learn to listen! How do you expect to be a proper king if you can’t heed any advice? Are you going to tell your royal advisors to kick it?”

“ _You_ will not be one of them!” Thorin snapped. “You are not my advisor, _burglar_. You signed a contract as a member of my Company _only_ and you do not speak for me. Nor will you again. When I tell you to speak to no one of our purpose or of any other matter I deem unnecessary, you will _listen_ -“

Bilbo reached up and flicked the dwarf on the tip of his pointy nose with his middle finger. It seemed a rather effective way to get him to shut up. Thorin immediately reared his head back, his eyes widening as he gaped at the hobbit in what seemed like possibly some incredulity. The king’s jaw was hanging slack and when he realized it, he clicked it shut, looking as if he were warring between shaking the hobbit silly and beginning to shout anew.

“Are you _quite_ finished?” Bilbo hissed, planting his hands on his hips. “You have told me far too many times now who I may or may not speak to. You are not my king! Nor do you have any say in that even if you were! No, _Thorin_ , you are a ridiculous creature and the love you have for your pride will be your undoing! _Excuse me_ for stepping in and saving us, so very _terrible_ , I know. If you don’t want to thank me, that’s perfectly alright, but I will _not_ be scolded for freeing us _with_ our belongings and a straight shot to the Mountain! No thank you! Pull that large stick out of your rear end and concentrate on getting to and _reclaiming_ _Erebor_ rather than yelling at me!” He glared at the dwarf before he turned on his heel and began to stomp away, only managing one slip on the slimy ground.

As they were arguing, it had started to rain with some fervor and Bilbo scowled. Of _course_ it had. He looked forward and watched as the Company, as one, hastily turned away and began to walk again; they were some distance ahead but had stopped so as to not leave their king behind. And to perhaps keep an eye on the situation. The hobbit marched his way to them, not looking back, and only slowed when he fell into step with Nori and Ori; Fili and Kili were just ahead of them.

The dwarves said nothing to him even after Thorin finally stalked by, looking as if he were trying to set the world ablaze, and joined Dwalin and Balin at the head of their group. Bilbo glared at the back of his head before he shook his own, ridding himself of some of the water clinging to his hair; he could not help but think that he rather desperately needed a haircut. It had grown at least an inch from when he had last been able to cut it and was falling into his eyes far too frequently - perhaps in Lake-town he would be able to find someone to tame it for him. When he had asked the dwarves for help they seemed so _pained_ by the request that he simply told them to forget he asked at all.

“Oi, Gloin!” Nori suddenly piped up, looking at the red-haired dwarf walking in front of the brothers, Oin at his side. “Would you say that counts as violence?”

Bilbo blinked, looking to the dwarf at his side before he glanced ahead and saw Gloin firmly shaking his head without looking back.

“Nay!” he barked back at once. “A wee flick to the nose cannot be called violence! It would have taken quite a bit more than that, I’m sorry to inform you, lad.” He did _not_ sound sorry to Bilbo’s ears: if anything, he sounded _smug_.

“Excuse me-“

“I would have to disagree,” Oin chimed in, cutting the hobbit off, adjusting his trumpet as he looked to his brother. “While it may not be violence in other circumstances, it was done to our king. And any touch to our _king_ would be considered an act of violence. I think it’s safe to call it so, brother.” The dwarf grinned at Gloin, who thrummed his fingers against his axe as if he were weighing his brother’s words.

Gloin sighed and nodded solemnly. “Aye, I must concede to that point. Very well, call it violence, lads,” he grumbled, reaching into his outer tunic and pulling a coin bag out. He tossed it to his brother, who caught it with a hoot of joy, waving it in the air in his triumph.

Bilbo dropped his jaw. “D-Did you- what is- did you take _wagers?_ ” he hissed, turning to look at Nori in horror. The dwarf shrugged and pulled out three bags of coin himself, tossing one each to Fili and Kili; he handed the next to Ori, who smiled, the _traitor_. “Excuse me! Did you take wagers on there being _violence_ between Thorin and I? Is that what this is?”

“We took wagers on who would be the _first_ to become violent,” Fili answered with pride, sending the hobbit a smirk from over his shoulder. “It seemed inevitable at this point, really. You two have done nothing but argue from the moment you met. Thought it might be a slap or punch, honestly. You should be glad, though, Bilbo, most bet it would be you!”

“Glad!” Bilbo repeated indignantly as his face warmed despite the chilly weather. “ _Glad!_ That does not make me _glad!_ If anything, that makes it worse! This is the second time you lot have taken wagers at my expense and I do not appreciate it, thank you! Eru save me from _dwarves_. Now I feel like horse dung, I cannot possibly lecture him on behaving like a child if I do the same. I cannot _believe_ you lot, there are far more important things to be concerned about on this journey.” He scowled as he looked between them, waving his finger through the air - he grumbled when Fili ducked away with exaggeration from it.

“Aww, we didn’t mean to make you feel like horse dung,” Kili announced cheerfully as he turned and began to walk backwards, grinning at the hobbit. “We’ve got to have a bit of fun here and there, you know. We’d go mad otherwise! Don’t worry about it, Bilbo, I’d have to say he’s had that coming for a while and none of us blame you for doing it. I _can’t_ say I’m surprised he didn’t declare you an enemy for it like he would anyone else, though. Uncle is far too easy on you.” He shot Bilbo the stink-eye before he turned around again, throwing his arm over Fili’s shoulders. “But we all know why _that_ is. I think I can say with confidence that I will be earning myself another one of these soon.”

Fili cuffed his brother on the back of his head as he shushed him. It sent the hobbit’s hackles rising as far as they could go and he glowered at them, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. The blond winced and looked forward once more, letting out a long-suffering sigh before he raked a hand along his face; as if _he_ were the one dealing with complete _fools_.

“What other _bet_ do you have that involves me?” Bilbo hissed waspishly, looking at Nori at his side. The dwarf held up his hands for peace; his look of innocence was so sincere that the hobbit knew he was entirely aware of the bet and was likely holding onto the coin to dole out whenever it was met. “What bet? Tell me right this moment and then put a stop to it! This is most rude behavior for individuals that call themselves my friends to participate in! _What bet?_ ”

Kili looked properly afraid and glanced sidelong at his brother, who was determinedly not looking back at him. “Um, well,” the brunet managed, glancing over his shoulder at Bilbo. “You see, the thing about that is-“

“We took wagers on when he asks you to join the Council,” Ori interrupted, four heads swiveling to look at him. The dwarf raised his eyebrows and gave a lazy shrug. “The king tries to make it seem as if he doesn’t appreciate your advice but we’ve all noticed he tends to follow it anyway. We think it’s only a matter of time before he finally breaks down and asks you to stay in Erebor to help him. He’s just taking a very long route to get there.” He turned his chin up and strode forward, brushing past the brothers. It seemed as if he were going to join Dori, which the hobbit didn’t blame him for one bit!

Bilbo looked at his three companions and blinked as he noticed each had their jaws lowered and were looking after the young dwarf with no small amount of wonder. Nori snapped his mouth shut when he noticed the hobbit looking at him and cleared his throat.

“Aye,” he agreed. “That’s what the bet is. Right. We’re just a little surprised that… Ori told you, is all. He’s normally good at keeping things to himself but he’s also an advocate of _honesty_.”

Why Nori sounded so shocked by that, Bilbo couldn’t say. “So you are saying he is my only true friend out of you four? Good to know,” he sniffed. “Well. Thorin should be so lucky! Though it hardly seems as if he actually feels that way, especially so after our most recent conversation, and I’d have to say whoever bet against him asking me such a thing will be filling their pockets. Now, if I get wind of one _more_ bet, I will leave you to Smaug and go back to the Shire. Do you understand me?” He waggled his finger between them before he felt a tickle in his nose and hastily covered it, a sneeze taking him quite by surprise.

“And if I get the sniffles because of this rain, I shall be _very_ upset indeed!”

——

Due to the rainstorm, the Company’s eagerness to get closer to the Mountain, and Thorin’s rage, they arrived on the shores of Lake-town midafternoon. The dwarves huddled together and spoke in hushed voices once they caught sight of a guard outpost connected to wooden gates which blocked passage along the pier that led into town. Bilbo didn’t join them as his simple sneeze had turned into a clogged nose, scratchy throat, and _many_ sneezes. He pretended it was due to allergies from the change in weather but in his heart he knew it: he was developing a head cold. And he was thoroughly unhappy about it.

Whatever the dwarves had decided to do, they began to march toward the outpost - two Men stepped outside and were not in any way subtle as they rested their hands on the hilts of their daggers. Bilbo thought it rather useless considering the way in which the dwarves were armed but perhaps that was why they did it. The taller of the two stepped forward, his eyes sweeping along the Company with no small amount of suspicion.

“What brings fourteen dwarves to Lake-town? The Master was not expecting anyone,” he declared and Bilbo coughed.

“Not a dwarf,” he called nasally, his arms wrapped tight around his body in an attempt to stave off the cold. A blanket hadn’t been an option during the rain and he was _quite_ frozen.

The Man took another look at him before his lips thinned. “Fine. What brings thirteen dwarves and one _Halfling_ to Lake-town?” he asked impatiently. Bilbo nodded his acceptance; he’d rather be a Halfling than a dwarf. He didn’t have the hair for it, anyway. Thorin stepped forward and as the Men made no attempt at subtlety with their threats, he made none in his distaste.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. We have journeyed far and we have further to go yet. I would speak with the Master of Lake-town. Will you take us to him?” he asked, though it was certainly an order. And the Men must have realized it as well, as they glanced at each other and had some silent sort of argument - the shorter of them didn’t seem to want to let dwarves into the town but the other looked as if he didn’t want to incite any trouble.

“Where are you journeying to?” he asked as he looked back to Thorin, a considering frown on his face. “The Iron Hills? Most dwarves who go that way take the Southern route.”

Thorin arched his eyebrows. “Our business is our own until we speak with the Master of Lake-town. Will you take us to him?” he repeated, leaving no room for an argument. Bilbo was a tad impressed as the Men looked somewhat cowed by him - bearing of a king, he supposed.

The Men looked between each other once more before the squat one sighed and inclined his head. “Very well, Master Thorin. Though we must ask that you not venture into our town so armed - we are only a fishing village and dwarves so armed will cause unease,” he stated, his eyes flickering down to Orcrist.

Not one dwarf made to remove any weapons; Dwalin settled one of his wars axes into the dirt before him and leaned his weight against it, raising his eyebrows at the Man. Bilbo sighed, swinging his eyes toward the grey sky and mumbling about the stubbornness of dwarves. When he looked back to the poor Men that were simply trying to protect their town, he felt more than a little sympathy as they shifted uneasily, obviously not knowing what to make of the Company.

“Fine then,” the shorter Man said in a clipped tone and motioned for them to follow. “I’ll take you to the Master but you’ll have an escort if you wish to remain armed. We want no trouble, Master Dwarves.” He turned and headed back to the outpost.

“Not a dwarf,” Bilbo called again, dragging the back of his hand across his nose as he followed the Company to the gates. The Man knocked twice at it and a scrape of wood against wood sounded as the gate was unlocked and pulled open. Two more Men were on the other side and frowning at the newcomers; they had clearly heard the conversation as they turned and began to walk along the pier. The Man that had waved them on stood at the gate as the Company marched through and when it was closed again, he headed up the rear.

The Mountain had not been visible to them as they thought it might be due to the rain and the low hanging clouds obscuring it, but the hobbit still craned his neck North every so often to try and get a glimpse. It seemed their unlucky streak was still going strong and Bilbo, beginning to feel properly miserable, could have cried. They had traveled across Middle Earth and blasted _clouds_ were blocking view of Erebor; he might have questioned what he had done wrong his past life, but he knew quite well the answer to that.

He scampered along behind the dwarves as they were led through the rather dreary town; it smelled strongly of fish and most of its citizens seemed as if they might have seen better days. It was altogether grey in appearance and the only brightness he saw was in the eyes of the Lake-town folk as they all stopped what they had been doing and watched the Company. The hobbit found it strange that they looked oddly hopeful and wondered when the town last saw anything ‘different.’

As they were led through what seemed to be the town square, Bilbo fell into a sneezing fit and Bofur dropped back to walk alongside him. The dwarf plucked his hat off and dropped it on the hobbit’s head, securing it over his frosty ears. “We’ve got more than a fortnight before Durin’s Day, hopefully we can cure you of your latest malady before then,” he said with a grin, chuckling as the hobbit rolled his eyes. “He’s going to ask for lodgings, should be able to get some tea and warm food in you. I suggest staying away from him for the time being or he will _surely_ take advantage of your weakened state and start in on you again.”

“I’ll show him my weakened state,” Bilbo declared, though he knew it was ruined by his clogged nose and the dwarf’s odd had atop his head. _And_ it only sent Bofur into a laughing fit. “Shush. Or I’ll use your hat as a handkerchief.” He sniffed pointedly and the dwarf gifted him with a dimpled grin as he threw his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. Bilbo might have wanted to shake him off but he was rather warm and he only grumbled halfheartedly until the Company came to a sudden stop.

The grandiose building seemed to be Lake-town’s town hall and one of the guards at the head of their group clambered up the stairs and entered the massive doors. The Company waited in relative silence, only a few murmurs running through them; most of the chatter was coming from the town’s citizens as they gathered around to look at the dwarves - and hobbit - curiously. Bilbo was once again mystified by their excitement and the noticeable lack of suspicion: they had yet to encounter _that_ anywhere during their Quest. It gave him a terrible sense of foreboding because _nothing had gone right_ and any _good_ they had come across had swiftly been destroyed by increasingly worse situations.

As Bilbo snuffled and shivered, the doors to the town hall suddenly burst open and nearly sent him out of his skin. Bofur gripped his shoulder as they both stared at the very tall and very _fat_ Man that strode forward, stopping at the top of the stairs and peering down at them. There was the suspicion! He raked his watery eyes along the Company and their weapons before they settled on Thorin, who had taken a step forward.

“I am the Master of Lake-town,” he declared in a rather slimy voice, which fit the rest of him perfectly well. “And who are you? Why are you here and why do you refuse to lay down arms in my town? We are but only peaceful fishermen!”

The hobbit swept his own gaze along the Man, noting his rings and fine clothing; he looked to the citizens once more, who certainly had nothing _fine_ on their own persons. Bilbo looked back to the Master and wrinkled his nose - he was anything _but_ a peaceful fisherman. As Thorin stepped forward, looking every bit the royal dwarf that he was, he clearly knew it too. He stared at the Master from under a heavy brow, his face stony and his posture stiff.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. And I have come to reclaim Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin prolly thinks Bilbo will be the end of him as much as Bilbo does Thorin. Next chapter we have a whole lot of chatter and a glimpse of a Mountain. c: Hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	5. Chapter 5

Chatter broke out among the citizens as Thorin announced himself. The Master’s eyes darted between his townspeople and the Company as the cogs in his head clearly turned; Bilbo watched the precise moment he threw a cloak of false welcome over his person. The Man raised his arms and flapped his hands for quiet, sending an oily smile to his people.

They quieted down and he cleared his throat in a long, drawn out fashion. “Well! The King Under the Mountain returns, eh? Forgive me for saying so but we haven’t met the King Under the Mountain. How are we to know you are who you say you are?” he asked as he rested his hands on his ample stomach. “Of course we mean no offense, however-“

“The Prophecy! The Prophecy of old spoken about Durin’s Folk,” an elderly Man cried, the Company’s heads swiveling to him as he did so. “It’s been said that the Lord of Silver Fountains would be returning! That the bells will ring in gladness at the Mountain King’s return! We all know the Prophecy passed down from our ancestors.” He nodded toward Thorin, apparently an already firm believer that he was who he claimed to be.

The Master forced a chuckle and waved the people down once more from the excited murmurs that had washed over them. “Well, be that as it may, we still do not know if this dwarf is who he says he is. Ah, Master Dwarf, do you have any way to prove yourself, perhaps? We would _very much_ like to believe you, of course, but you must understand our hesitancy to do so. There is, after all, a dragon in that Mountain!” he said with his glaringly false humor.

Bilbo snorted. He didn’t have to have his nose to smell the want on the Master; he could read it in his eyes just as well. If he believed Thorin, as the hobbit knew he _already_ did, it meant that the wealth of Erebor might grace his town. Trade _did_ have to open, after all, and this Man was clearly one of the greedy sort. The hobbit sniffed in an attempt to clear his nose to no avail and simply watched as Balin stepped forward.

“Aye! As members of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company, we swore our lives to his cause and signed contracts to prove ourselves to it! They have all been signed by our king, witnessed by myself, Balin son of Fundin, and signed by the party belonging to that contract. Will that be sufficient enough proof for you?” he asked, already having pulled out what seemed to be at least three contracts and holding them toward the Man. Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion his was not included - the whole burglar part of it might seem a _bit_ strange.

The Man was beginning to look rather helpless as he motioned for a guard to retrieve the contracts from Balin. They were thrust into his hands and he glanced at the bottom of each, squinting down at the signatures that were written there. He peered over the parchment and at the dwarves, opening his mouth before he hesitated; murmurs had begun to move through his townspeople again and the Master puffed up and threw on his largest grin.

“I have to say that this is sufficient proof, Master Dwarf, and so I believe a welcome is owed… welcome! Welcome to Lake-town! Welcome, King Under the Mountain and his Company! We were just enjoying a feast and I would have you join me at my table!” he cried, gesturing toward the doors behind him. “Come in, come in and perhaps you can tell me more of reclaiming Erebor!”

Thorin inclined his head toward the Master before he looked at Dwalin - Bilbo knew them well enough by now that he was perfectly aware the king had just told his captain to remain vigilant and to be prepared for a fight. As he sighed, the Company began to eagerly push forward at the promise of food and the hobbit had no choice but to follow along. Balin retrieved the contracts from the Master before the fool could think to actually read them and shuffled them back into his pack. The hobbit moved alongside him.

“Well. What do you think?” he asked, his voice far too froggy for his liking. “Think we’re going to be murdered at the dining table?” He offered a wry smile to the dwarf who returned it.

“I think that we’re about to have a very long discussion on the gold Erebor holds,” Balin stated drily, tilting his head toward the hobbit. “I can say with confidence that our king will keep his head while conversing with this Lake-town Master. Much easier to barter with than elves.” He chuckled as Bilbo shot him a disbelieving look.

“I find that very hard to believe,” the hobbit replied. “Not the elves part, the part about Thorin keeping his head. He didn’t even keep his head in one hobbit-hole! I suppose the Mountain being within sight - err, when it’s not covered in clouds - might be a big enough motivator, though. Oh, I have a question for you! Were you aware of the _bet_ made on which one of us would become _violent_ with the other? _Balin_.” Bilbo scoffed as the dwarf put on an innocent look that was just as terrible as Gandalf’s.

Balin cleared his throat and patted at his belly as they were led along a hall and toward the head table at the end of it. “You are hardly sounding well,” the dwarf pointed out most unhelpfully, “I do believe you should speak with Oin, laddie. You seem to have caught yourself a cold.” He clapped the hobbit’s shoulder as Bilbo gaped at him.

Another hand planted down on his opposite shoulder and Bilbo snapped his head up, meeting two large braids that twisted into horseshoe shapes from a greying dwarf’s beard. He immediately whined as Oin arched a brow at him and began to steer him away before he could even properly respond to Balin. He should have liked to scold him! Blast it all! The healer stopped with Bilbo at the end of the dining hall and proceeded to paw at his head as if it might spell out ‘cold’ for him, ignoring the hobbit’s pleas to leave him be so he might get a bite of food. Not that he’d be able to taste anything.

Oin ordered him to drink echinacea tea as if he had any _lying about;_ he made sure to inform the dwarf with much sarcasm that he did not have any on his person right at that moment and promptly felt ashamed when the healer shoved a small glass jar filled with its root into his hands. The dwarf accepted his bumbling apology with a bark of laughter loud enough to hurt the hobbit’s ears - Bilbo was _sure_ it had been on purpose. They hurried to the dining table to join the Company and the Men that sat there.

Thorin took his place on the Master’s left side and his nephews took theirs on his own; the king was already in conversation with the Man and Bilbo wanted no part in it. Which was why he ignored Kili’s gesturing at the seat next to him: no and thank you! The hobbit sat himself at the end of the table next to Bofur and across from Ori, wishing nothing more than to collapse into a bed and sleep the last few days away. After more food was brought to the table and served, Bilbo found he could only stomach a simple beef stew and nothing else; he knew he was truly ill when a large spread of food was before him only caused his stomach to churn unpleasantly.

The hobbit found that the next few hours were some of the longest in his life. He swayed in his seat and nodded off twice, startling when the dwarves burst into raucous laughter or cheer. They had gotten rather comfortable in ale and wine as they feasted and Bilbo decided he wished to not speak with them for a week because of it. It seemed terribly unfair that they were allowed to enjoy themselves while he was swimming in his own mucus and had to focus intensely on his surroundings to figure out what was _real_ or not.

As the dwarves began to mill about away from the table and with the people of Lake-town, a very young Man approached Bilbo and asked if he wanted for anything. The hobbit gladly told him what he wanted for and looking rather horrified, the lad scampered off to the Master. Bilbo was not certain what they spoke of (he was very aware of the moment the Master was informed he was ill given his look of disgust, however) but it was a short conversation and the lad hurried to his side. He informed the hobbit they would be gifted a large house and any needs they had would be met as welcomed guests before he offered to show him there.

Bofur, Bifur, Ori, and Dwalin accompanied Bilbo to their accommodations; the hobbit knew Dwalin was there to scout the area for Thorin and possibly to also be of aid if they were to be attacked. Thankfully they were not and were rather taken with the house and the comforts it would offer them instead. Roaring fires were lit and fresh bedding had been brought in; a pantry was stocked and barrels of ale were rolled into the kitchen. Bilbo didn’t have to ask after a hot bath because one had already been made for him and as he took advantage of the steam to help dislodge the nasty business in his nose and throat, Ori made a pot of tea with the roots Oin had given the hobbit.

Quite before Bilbo knew it, he was clean, dried, dressed, and collapsing into a wonderfully soft bed. He expressed his great joy when Ori pointed out the pile of handkerchiefs he had been given but before he could put one to good use, he was fast asleep.

——

Bilbo woke buried in a bundle of blankets and for a good long moment he debated going right back to sleep; his runny nose told him what it thought of that. The hobbit groaned, fighting his way out of the blankets the best he could, rolling around until he faced the bedside table. He blinked blearily, reaching out and grabbing a handkerchief, shoving it under his nose before he swept his gaze around the room. He fully expected to see Ori but the only dwarf in the room sent his stomach into waves and his heart into his throat.

Thorin was watching him from where he sat in a chair near the foot of the hobbit’s bed. He looked rather comfortable lounging back with his boots resting on the bottom of Bilbo’s mattress; he was holding what looked like a worn, leather bound book in his hands and had clearly been reading it while the hobbit slept.

“You’re not Ori,” Bilbo mumbled into his handkerchief, squinting at the dwarf. Thorin raised his eyebrows at him before the left corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been called a smile and he shook his head.

“Ori deserved rest as well,” the king informed him with some amusement. It set the hobbit’s warning bells off and Thorin seemed to read as much. “We are an hour before dawn, Master Baggins, you have been asleep for some time. How are you faring? You have seen better days.”

“Have I,” Bilbo did not ask, rolling in his blankets until he got a good hold of his mattress and could shove himself into a sitting position. It sent him into a sneezing fit and he made very good use out of his handkerchief as he began to cough wetly immediately after. The hobbit groaned once he wiped his nose and took the proffered cup of water Thorin had in his hand as he now stood at his bedside. He began to greedily drink as much as his sore throat would allow, ignoring the dwarf that was taking far too much pleasure in his suffering as far as he was concerned.

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest and watched him, only arching an eyebrow when Bilbo glared. “Ori informed me you didn’t eat much at the feast. Are you hungry?” he asked and received a slow head-shake from the hobbit for his troubles. “Very well. He informed me Oin has given you roots for tea, as well; you should have more while you are awake. We will remain in Lake-town for some time but I would see you well before we leave.”

“Wouldn’t want me sneezing and waking up that dragon, eh?” Bilbo asked, his voice far more nasally than it was the day before. “I know. I can make a pot of it and I will, just give me a few more moments to wake up. My head feels as if it is the size of a troll’s! I don’t believe I’ve had a cold like this in quite sometime, you know, so it only makes sense that I have one now. Wouldn’t want anything to go over smoothly, no, it must be a rocky road and I blame you dwarves entirely for it.” He waggled his finger at the king before he snatched up a new handkerchief and blew his nose into it.

The dwarf snorted. “I do believe you can blame yourself for it, Master Baggins. If you had not spoken to that elf, we would still be in his dungeons and you would have avoided the rainstorm,” he informed the hobbit. And then he _laughed_ as Bilbo puffed up with indignation and opened his mouth to give a proper scolding. Thorin held his hands up for peace. “I am sorry that I have not shown appreciation for it, Bilbo. You have my thanks for ridding us of that place though I will still ask you not speak for me again. I will also ask that you not flick my nose in front of my entire Company again.”

“So I can flick it in private?” Bilbo asked drily, rolling his eyes as Thorin gave him a _look_. “What? You deserved that and you know it. Don’t tease me, I’m _very_ ill, I’ll have you know. I don’t have time to process Thorin Oakenshield with a sense of humor.” He snorted himself as the dwarf’s lips pursed in response, tossing his blankets aside and untangling his feet with some difficulty. He did rather wish he didn’t have to bodily roll himself out of bed but his legs were feeling a mite weak. The king looked as if he were prepared to catch him and Bilbo flapped his hand at him.

“I’m fine, it’s just a cold. I’ll live yet,” he said as he held his handkerchief to his nose and wandered to the tea kettle sitting on the table. He grabbed it up and moved to the water basin, rinsing it out before he filled it with fresh water, ignoring the tremble in his hands. “Why are you in here, by the by? Was it your shift on watch duty?” He sent a sidelong glance at the dwarf.

Thorin sighed. “I wished to see you when you woke. This house belongs only to us while we are here and the others have taken advantage of the quiet; they are all asleep. Do you not wish for help?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. At Bilbo’s obvious gawking, the king developed a pinched look and dropped his hands onto his belt. “We do not have _watch duty,_ hobbit, I was worried for you. You looked unwell at the feast but I could not get away.”

That explanation didn’t help, Bilbo found. He continued to gape at the dwarf. “Excuse me, are you suddenly that concerned for my wellbeing? I know you’d rather we all survived this ridiculous Quest but-“

“Have I not already shown you I wish to see you well?” Thorin interrupted with some heat as he moved closer to the hobbit. He sounded nothing short of _offended,_ which was entirely confusing. “I believe I have shown you as much numerous times, Master Baggins, and an argument has not changed that. You are a member of my Company and I do not wish to see you ill or injured. Any of you.”

Bilbo blinked twice at him before he sighed. Yes, well. The dwarf _had_ been overly concerned about him over their journey; annoyingly so, in fact. He grumbled, waving his hand at Thorin as he carried the kettle to the fire and set it into place. The hobbit sniffed and patted his nose dry again as he looked to the king.

“Yes, sorry, you certainly have shown that. I suppose it still takes me by surprise but, ah, yes. Thank you for your concern, Thorin, it _is_ appreciated,” he replied, rocking forward on his toes. “I’ll be alright though, you don’t need to worry about me, I’ll probably have some tea and be asleep again soon enough. Have _you_ gotten any sleep since we arrived here? I have to say, you’ve seen better days.”

Thorin’s shoulders relaxed, thankfully, and he chuckled, shaking his head at the hobbit. “Have I? I was able to get some sleep when the others finally settled but I am restless now that we’re here. In just two weeks time, I will be able to sit on the throne of my forefathers; I am eager to see Smaug done away with so my people can return home,” he explained, turning his head toward the window that faced North above the hobbit’s bed. “You will be able to see the wonders of Erebor and why I have fought for it.”

“I know why you have without seeing the wonders of Erebor,” Bilbo commented, hiding a yawn in his handkerchief before he promptly sneezed it. “Confound this cold, the next few days will be absolutely miserable, I can feel it in my feet. Do you know what, I find myself concerned with that dragon first and foremost. I’ll be eager to see your home once I know I’m not being digested in his belly.” He waggled his finger at the dwarf as he turned to his bed and wandered to it. The hobbit had to climb onto it, much to his annoyance, to be able to reach the window and unlatch it. He pushed it open and grumbled as he was met with a cold blast of wind; he ignored it and squinted into the dark toward the Mountain. The clouds seemed to have disappeared and he could see the outline of Erebor as the sun crept its way to rise above them soon enough.

“It is beautiful in the light of a sunrise, even moreso after a rain,” Thorin said as he followed the hobbit and leaned his hip against the bed, looking out of the window with him. His fond smile only helped to soften his eyes and Bilbo felt a swift kick to his belly because it was a traitorous thing. “Have you seen Mountains before, Master Baggins? The Shire is some distance from Ered Luin still but a safer Road than what we have encountered.”

Bilbo snorted. “Traveling _anywhere_ else is safer than what we have encountered. I’ve seen the Mountains before, yes, though it has been a very long while,” he answered with a shrug. At the king’s questioning glance, the hobbit tried not to blanch - _right,_ it would have been a bit more simple to say no. “Err, well, the Southernmost range of the Blue Mountains is closest and you need only follow the Brandywine to get there. I’ve never gone North before, not near where you lot lived; I think it’s about the same distance from there to the Shire as it is from the Shire to Rivendell. Bit of a long walking holiday.” He smiled and turned to the window, pulling it closed - it wasn’t likely to aid his cold.

“A long one to the Southern range,” Thorin commented as the hobbit slipped off the bed and trotted to his tea kettle. “You have come a long way from the hobbit that was certain of our demise. Do you think you will fare well when we enter Erebor?”

The hobbit rolled his eyes to himself - he very much heard the teasing in the dwarf’s voice. “I decided I had a death wish and that is why I came along. _Yes_ , I think I’ll fare alright but no one can say with absolute certainty how they will feel staring into a dragon’s eyes,” he said as he used the mitt placed near the fire to pick his kettle up. He sniffled as he poured himself a steaming cup of tea, wishing he could actually smell and taste it. “Just do us all a favor and don’t jump headlong into his maw, yes?” As he turned to look at the dwarf, he caught his own eye-roll and snickered.

“I wish not for another lecture so I will refrain from jumping headlong into anything more in your presence,” Thorin stated drily as he moved back to his chair. His hand hovered over the top of it as he reached for it before he looked at the hobbit accusingly. “You have lectured me for nearly every decision I have made on this Quest.”

Bilbo was surprised he was only just now realizing it. “Well. Yes? It’s hardly my fault you keep making poor decisions and inspiring lectures,” he pointed out, grinning as Thorin sent a flat stare his way. “I was beginning to think you actually _wanted_ them.” He laughed as the king fought his own amusement by turning from him; he lost the battle as he joined the hobbit in his laughter and shot a lopsided grin his way. It was not charming whatsoever.

“You enjoy giving them more than you should,” Thorin said as Bilbo carried his tea to the bedside table and placed it there. “Though we wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

The hobbit shrugged his shoulders as he clambered back into his bed and leaned into the corner of the wall, tugging his blankets up to his belly. “You don’t know that but it does seem likely,” he agreed, reaching over and grabbing his tea cup. He blew on it before taking an experimental sip - he would blame the shake in his hand on his cold still but it didn’t help that the dwarf was watching his _every_ movement. It was slightly disconcerting. “Are you going to sit? What were you reading?” He sighed in relief as Thorin turned to the book resting on his chair.

“One of the townsfolk gave this to me at the feast. He said it had been something passed through his family as they felt it wrong to be rid of it if we were to return here one day,” the king replied, picking the book up and moving to the side of the bed to hand it to the hobbit. “It is a ledger that belonged to a dwarf who ran a fabrics stall in the markets of Dale. Nothing of import but he left many notes and I have been reading them.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows as he carefully set his cup on his lap and took it, flipping it open. He huffed - all but the notes were written in the Common script; they were, naturally, in Khuzdul runes. He supposed he should have known they would be given it was written by a dwarf. The hobbit flipped through the worn pages, pausing as he felt the crinkled parchment become more stiff and opened it to the first of those. Right. It seemed it hadn’t even broken midday when Smaug had come, according to the last entry and time written there - he wondered if the dwarf had survived. Bilbo lifted his eyes to Thorin and pursed his lips when he saw blue firmly rooted to his face.

“Do you know, ah, who it belonged to? I’m assuming there is a name,” he ventured cautiously but the king was already shaking his head.

“No, I do not recognize the name and I know not what happened to him. Ormur,” Thorin said as he looked back down to the ledger. “I knew the citizens of Erebor better after we were forced to leave the Mountain and I still do not recognize the name. Smaug lay ruin to Dale before he took our home and it is likely the owner of that perished.” He nodded at the book as Bilbo sighed.

“I am sorry to hear it,” he replied, closing it and running his hand along the worn leather binding. “Far too many have died because of that dragon. We’re at least going to try and see to it that he doesn’t kill anymore. The world can always do with one less serpent.” He handed the ledger back to Thorin with a smile and took his tea up again to sip on it.

The dwarf apparently saw his sneeze coming and plucked up a fresh handkerchief, holding it out to the hobbit as Bilbo attempted to not lose his tea. He took the cloth from the dwarf with a mumble of thanks and held it to his nose, thumping his head against the wall and whining his misery. Thorin chuckled and Bilbo flapped his hand at him.

“If you catch a cold, I’ll make sure I’m around to laugh at you,” he huffed as he stared out of the window. “Your hunk of rock is beginning to show itself.” The hobbit gestured forward and Thorin moved closer to the wall to look out as well, smiling his ridiculous smile again. “You can sit, if you’d like. Or bring your chair over.” Bilbo nodded at the space next to him and looked back to the Mountain. It’s snowy white peaks were beginning to show blue in the early morning light and the very tip of them was hit with the first ray of sun; it looked like a beacon, which the hobbit thought rather fitting.

He sipped on his tea until he heard Thorin’s boots on the wooden floor and looked after him as he walked to the table near the fire. The dwarf picked up the abandoned kettle and brought it to Bilbo’s bedside, motioning for the hobbit’s cup. He let him have it to pour him a fresh one - he would not be jealous of the king’s steady hands - and murmured his appreciation. Thorin set the kettle aside and sat on the bed next to the hobbit, staying a comfortable enough distance away as he leaned back against the wall.

Bilbo smiled at him and returned his gaze to the Mountain; they watched the sunrise in silence and the hobbit was given his first real _look_ at Erebor. It was beautiful, of course, he had always been fond of Mountains - it came with being hatched in them, he suspected. He had once roamed these skies and if he had flown over the dwarven realm before, he didn’t remember it; he was glad for it as he preferred to see it as the hobbit he now was.

Once the sun had risen, he and Thorin fell into friendly chatter - the king spoke to him about his days in Erebor and what it was like being a prince. Bilbo doubted his nephews were going to handle it with as much grace as Thorin seemed to but that certainly wasn’t _his_ worry. When a quiet fell between the hobbit and dwarf, it felt more companionable than it had at any other point during their Quest. As Bilbo turned to ask the king what all the Mountain mined, he was entirely unimpressed to see he had bloody fallen asleep _while sitting up,_ a habit that pained the hobbit to his very core.

Bilbo warred with his want to push Thorin’s shoulder to see if he could save himself from falling off of the bed and his own desire to get more rest. _Preferably_ not sitting up. He eyed the dwarf before he shrugged and set his cup on the window sill, slumping down as best he could and yanking his blankets to his shoulders. And if he watched Thorin sleep until his own eyelids grew heavy, well, that was really no one’s business but his own.

——

It was determined that the Company could afford the fortnight in Lake-town: a much needed reprieve for healing old wounds, restocking belongings, stocking up on _rest,_ and for a hobbit to get rid of his cold.

On the tenth day in the fishing village, Bilbo found himself on a lonely dock, wrapped up in the warm coat he had been gifted. He had bought a new pipe and pipeweed (though it was certainly no Old Toby) and was taking advantage of the privacy he could get by being as far away from where any dwarf would know to look for him. He and Thorin were getting along _worryingly_ well but they were all still _dwarves_. The hobbit smoked his pipe, humming a song to himself and looking out over the fog-covered waters of the Long Lake. It might have put him ill at ease only a year ago but, like once before in his long life, he was entirely comfortable near the _bleak_. He blew a smoke ring.

“You came with the dwarves,” a voice said, startlingly close to him.

Bilbo let out a strangled cry and grabbed the dock so he wouldn’t topple over into the water as he whirled around to look at the tall, brown-haired Man that had snuck up on him. He stared at him with wide eyes, wondering how in the world he had managed to move along the creaky dock without making a sound. The Man raised his eyebrows at him before he shook his head, pointing at the single barge just down from the hobbit before turning his finger down to the large pack in his hand.

“My apologies. Didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s mine and I’m going out,” he explained. “The dwarves tend to stay together and I haven’t seen you out here before. You’re a Halfling from the West?”

Bilbo huffed. “I am a _hobbit!_ Is that what everyone not in the Shire is told we are called? Goodness gracious me. Halfling is considered a very rude term by us,” he scolded, waving his pipe toward the Man. “You may call me Bilbo Baggins. May I ask who you are?”

“Bard,” the Man answered as he hopped down into his barge and set his pack in the center of it. “I’ve never heard of a hobbit or a Halfling before but it’s what I’ve heard you called in town. Sorry. Why are you out here by yourself? Hiding from that king of yours?”

Bilbo scoffed. “Hiding! Absolutely not. And he’s _not_ my king, you know,” he retorted, eyeing the Man as he kneeled and opened his pack. When he looked back to the hobbit, Bilbo very much saw amusement in his eyes and rolled his own. “You can call it hiding but I call it a well-timed retreat. I’m rather fond of them but they can get to be a bit much for myself at times. Terribly rowdy! I was also suffering through a dreadful head cold and now that that business is done and over with, I am enjoying the outdoors once again.”

Bard turned and looked across the waters; they could only see about thirty feet before anything solid became a lumpy grey blob. “A beautiful view,” the Man said, drawing a chuckle from the hobbit. “The Master must agree with you about their rowdiness - he’s seemed eager to see you gone. It’s more expensive to house dwarves than he thought it might be.”

“Yes, well. They do enjoy their food and ale,” Bilbo replied, shrugging his shoulders and taking another puff of his pipe. “I enjoy it myself, of course, but I think I’ve been a bit more reserved. If he wanted us to not be expensive, he could have asked for coin, I’m sure they’ve got it hidden somewhere on their hairy persons.” He smiled as Bard gave what seemed to be a rusty chuckle - these Lake-town citizens were a dreary lot and most were taking advantage of the rambunctious dwarves. Except for perhaps _this_ one as he had a weary and stiff air about him; and when Bilbo looked closer, he saw that Bard was younger than he had originally assumed - the weathered lines in his face hid it.

“He does love coin but he also loves keeping a generous image for the people,” the Man said drily, looking down the pier before he raised his eyes to the hobbit again. “You know why he is aiding Thorin Oakenshield. He’s hoping to see some of the wealth that Mountain is supposed to have fall into his hands. He shouldn’t.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “There’s quite a _lot_ of wealth in that Mountain though I certainly understand that _he_ shouldn’t have anymore himself, he seems quite greedy. Shouldn’t encourage-“

“He shouldn’t want any wealth from that Mountain because it means you’ll be waking that dragon,” Bard interrupted as he stood and leaned his weight on his forearms against the pier. At Bilbo’s frown, the Man shook his head, staring at him with an odd sort of desperation. “You were there in the town square when the old man spoke of that Prophecy? He didn’t finish it. It says that after the Mountain King’s return, all shall fail in sadness, and the Lake will shine and burn. They like to not think on what that could mean. I know what it _does_ mean. Dragon-fire.”

The hobbit gaped at him. “Y-You- dragon-fire? But- well, that dragon is sleeping in his treasure hoard right now. Are you implying that if we go there, this Prophecy of yours says Smaug will set fire to- to what? _This_ place?” he asked, gesturing toward the town with the stem of his pipe. “I’m not a very big believer in any portents or prophecies myself; they _are_ just words. The last thing we would let happen is allowing that dragon to leave Erebor and come here.”

Bard raised his eyebrows at him expectantly. “And you can guarantee that?” he asked, knowing the hobbit very much could not. At Bilbo’s sigh, the Man jerked his chin toward the town. “We risk it no matter what - no matter _who_ enters that Mountain. The Mountain King has returned as the words say he would; why should the rest not be true? Neither he nor the Master will hear this from me. They want to believe slaying that dragon will be an easy thing to do while I have three children to worry about if you _don’t_.”

“You’ve spoken with Thorin about it?” Bilbo asked with surprise. Bard’s eyes hardened and his lips thinned - of course. “You _tried_ to speak with Thorin. Right. Yes, I know _exactly_ how that feels but of course he won’t want to hear anything negative about his Quest. There will be no stopping him from getting to that Mountain but this Quest depends on slaying Smaug to be successful. We are going to try and do just that. From what I understand, he’s deep inside the heart of Erebor and given he hasn’t been seen for sixty years, he’s probably not in tiptop shape. We plan on using stealth to our advantage and I’m hoping not one of _us_ is gravely injured or killed in the process. We will do everything we can to contain him there.”

“ _How?_ If Thorin was there that day, he knows the size of him. Dragons cannot be so easily slain by an axe or sword or arrow. How are you to keep him there and kill him?” Bard demanded with some hoarseness. The hobbit was somewhat taken aback - the Man looked _frightened_ and clearly had been for a while. He supposed if he had three children of his own, he would likely feel the same way if he believed the Prophecy.

If Bilbo thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure how they planned on killing Smaug, either. He knew there were dwarven weapons buried in Erebor that might be able to do the trick but they weren’t exactly accessible to them immediately upon entering the Mountain. And Gandalf hadn’t confided in him; surely the wizard had a plan - though it would help if he hadn’t _abandoned_ them. At the hobbit’s hesitation, Bard heaved a sigh and looked toward town once more, a frown as fierce as any of Thorin’s coloring his features.

“No arrows you have can pierce its hide. And I would think any of you mad to get close to him,” the Man said, an edge of defeat in his voice. “If you don’t have anything beyond the hope that you might kill him, why would you try? If this is something the dwarf plans on seeing through, can it not be done with some amount of _certainty_ of the dragon’s demise? If you go into that Mountain and that dragon turns his eyes on this place, we will _die,_ Master Baggins. Why can he not wait?”

Bilbo set his pipe aside and dropped his hands onto his thighs, thrumming his thumbs against them. “Because we can only enter the Mountain on Durin’s Day, which is only a few days from _now_. You certainly will not be convincing him to sit about for a year to plan this any further than he already has; we’ve suffered for a year just to get here ourselves. I cannot promise you anything. I cannot even say with complete certainty that we’ll enter Erebor given we’re looking for a door _Thorin_ didn’t know about,” he stated, sliding his hand over his belly and rubbing at his scar beneath his clothing. His massive arrow had come from a windlance and they didn’t have any of those types of arrows unless they sat in the Mountain, as far as he knew.

“Then I hope you do not find that door,” Bard returned and the hobbit looked back to him. He didn’t look _angry_ and that alone sent an odd trickle of discomfort down Bilbo’s spine - he looked as if he already believed dragon-fire would rain down upon Lake-town. “And if you do, I hope that you have figured out a way to kill that dragon before you rouse him into a rage you cannot control. Our ancestors already paid for the greed of dwarves once and I’d like to believe Thorin Oakenshield wouldn’t want that to happen again.” The Man shoved himself back and untied his barge from the dock, grabbing his oar and pushing the end of it against the thick wooden beam that disappeared into the water below.

The hobbit watched helplessly as Bard began to steer the barge away, clambering to his own feet and wrapping his coat more tightly around himself. When the Man began to steer into the fog, he looked back to the hobbit with the same desperation that his eyes held when they first started speaking about Smaug.

“Don’t enter that Mountain,” Bard shouted before he turned away again. Bilbo watched him until he disappeared and with an uncomfortably churning stomach, made his way back into Lake-town. The sounds of everyday life in the world of Men had never bothered him before but as he hurried his way to their guest home, he found he wished to be as far from it as possible.

They _needed_ Gandalf and Bilbo prayed to all the Valar the blasted wizard made his appearance before they got to the Mountain. It seemed like far too little time indeed to come up with a solid plan but it was better than _not_ having a wizard at any rate.

And when he tried to speak with Thorin that evening, he and his worries were dismissed with such a stunning amount of anger and condescension that he was entirely taken aback. After yet _another_ argument with the king due to it, Bilbo decided he was still following a fool of a dwarf and vowed he would be heard before they left Lake-town, even if he had to _punch_ Thorin that time around to get him to listen.

——

The morning after his conversation with Bard, Thorin dragged _himself_ to Bilbo’s side and offered a strangely heartfelt apology for hollering at him the way he did the previous evening. It was accepted and the hobbit managed to get the king to sit down with him and discuss their plans for Smaug - Gandalf. The wizard _had_ told Thorin he had a ‘plan’ but had made very little mention of what it was; Bilbo suspected it might have on purpose to keep the Company from entering the Mountain without him. The hobbit doubted that would work if it came down to it - the dwarves had plenty of suggestions and ideas and plans in which to kill the dragon of their own. Half were _atrociously_ ridiculous and the other half wouldn’t work simply based on the makeup of dragons but Bilbo could hardly offer a detailed explanation on such a thing.

As far as he knew, the only way to kill a dragon was with a spear or arrow launched with great strength and speed, a very large amount of powerful magic, or by the teeth and claws of a creature near the same size. And Bilbo was fairly certain Gandalf couldn’t cast a simple spell on Smaug so that really didn’t leave him with much; he would simply have to go along with the best of their ideas while they waited for the wizard to join them. Because Gandalf _had_ said he would join them - Bilbo would kill him if he were late. Given their luck so far on the Quest, he was truly terrified the wizard would be.

——

On the eve of the Company’s departure from Lake-town, there was a general feeling of unease and restlessness; Bilbo thought that a fair thing for everyone to feel. It seemed only Thorin was unaffected or he was simply managing to hide it rather well.

The Company had finished supper and shared the last barrel of ale before they would be off - they certainly wouldn’t find any in Erebor. Bilbo chose tea himself in an attempt to calm his nerves and help settle him enough for rest when he finally tried to drop off in his bed. The hobbit lamented that he wouldn’t have one of _those_ for a while again, either, and escaped to it to take advantage of the comfort.

In all likelihood, he would see a dragon in less than three days time - his first time in nearly two hundred years. And it wasn’t just any dragon, either! It was Smaug. He _knew_ him; not that they had ever been on the best of terms, but when one fought alongside kin for years, one at least exchanged names and friendly conversation! It was only polite. And even though Bilbo was now in hobbit-form, he knew it wouldn’t hide him from the dragon: he had never expected it to. He fully expected Smaug to sniff him out the moment he stepped into Erebor’s hoard - it was everyone _else_ Bilbo didn’t expect to need to hide from! The hobbit would certainly have words with Gandalf when he could after he had nearly been outed by a skin-changer and elf king.

Bilbo slipped into his room and immediately hopped onto the bed, settling himself in the corner with his blankets tugged to his shoulders. He had spent half his time ill like so, looking out of the window and watching Erebor as if it might offer him answers for his many, many questions. The hobbit sighed, digging the heel of his palm into one of his eyes as he stared North with a sense of foreboding he wished he could be rid of. It had unfortunately settled into the pit of his stomach after his conversation with Bard and only increased by the day.

“Will you sleep tonight?” an entirely familiar voice asked. Bilbo was not even startled.

The hobbit glanced sidelong toward the door and at Thorin leaning against the frame of it. “No,” he mumbled sullenly. “And I think you should forego sleep yourself because _none_ of us will be sleeping soundly. You seem as if you could sleep the entire night through and still have that silly smile on your face.”

Thorin huffed at him as he moved into his room without permission. “I am going home. I _am_ anxious, Bilbo, but it _is_ my home and I know we will succeed. Have confidence,” he returned, as if it were that simple. At Bilbo’s mutter of where he could stick his confidence, the king’s eyes rolled skyward. “Act as if you do for the sake of us all. When you begin to grow nervous, we all follow.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Don’t blame that on me! You lot are very twitchy,” he accused, waggling his finger toward the dwarf. Thorin stepped closer and caught it, arching his brow and staring down his pointy nose at the hobbit. “Excuse me, I didn’t even invite you in here. What do you want? I’d like to mope by myself for a while, if it’s all the same to you.” He shook his hand uselessly until the king let him go and he settled again, looking out of the window with a sniff.

“That is why I am here. I knew you would attempt to mope,” Thorin replied as he sat on the bed next to Bilbo. Again, _without_ his permission. Though it seemed to have happened a handful of times by now and the hobbit hadn’t minded at all.

Fili and Kili had burst into his room (without his permission) just three days past to find the hobbit and dwarf sitting next to each other and reading their own books in companionable silence. It was a pleasant escape for both of them. The brothers had looked as if they had each sprouted a few extra heads and stared at them until Thorin gave them that _look_ he did and they had fled - not before sharing an incredulous glance between each other, however. Bilbo had mumbled about locking the door to save them from dwarflings and while Thorin had agreed, neither of them bothered to actually do it; they had been quite comfortable, thank you.  
  
And the day after, the brothers had passed Bilbo’s room on their way to the one they shared and had stopped to stare; the hobbit and the king were sitting side by side again and while Bilbo wasn’t quite sure how it happened, he was illustrating on a large piece of parchment the Baggins’ family tree to an increasingly befuddled Thorin. They had caught sight of Fili and Kili, who simply hurried away, whispering between each other like the children they were.

Bilbo was sure he had never been more mortified in his life when, the very next morning, Kili had commented that he didn’t know how two people could spend so much time in bed together and make it so boring.

His newfound friendship with Thorin did present issues though: one being that the dwarf refused to let him mope. “Yes, well,” Bilbo grumped, waving his hand toward the king in a shooing motion. “I do believe I should be allowed that privilege tonight, please and thank you. Don’t you have more important things to do?”

“I have done them all,” Thorin replied as he gazed out of the window with the hobbit. Erebor wasn’t visible but some stars were, at the very least, and it was always a lovely sight. “Any remaining concerns are being dealt with by Balin and Dwalin. Why do you wish to mope? Have we not addressed your own concerns enough?”

Bilbo twisted around to squint at him. “Are you implying that I shouldn’t be nervous if we have? We may have addressed my concerns but I still find myself _concerned_ about the _dragon_ ,” he said pointedly. “You aren’t the one being sent down to investigate on your own just because you’re quiet on your feet. Smaug is going to send me back on a spit. I am sure you will inform me even then that I shouldn’t mope.”

Thorin chuckled. “Let us hope not to find out. I think we would not fare well if you end up on a spit,” he commented, earning himself a kick from a strong hobbit foot. He was entirely lucky that it was buried under blankets! The dwarf grunted and shifted out of his reach. “Bilbo, I have a question for you but you need not answer it.”

At that, the hobbit blinked, raising his eyebrows at the king. “I think I ‘need not’ ever answer any of your questions,” he said, unable to help a grin as the dwarf’s lips thinned. “Should I be happy that I’m sitting down already? Ask away.” He gestured toward himself encouragingly.

He was put on the end of a considering stare and it was only when he wrinkled his nose that Thorin sighed. “Will you tell me how you received your scars? I had thought not to ask but I have seen them enough that I am curious how a hobbit of the Shire came across such wounds,” he explained in what Bilbo could only say was a nervous fashion. He knew the question was certainly not up to the hobbit’s standards of propriety. “If it is a subject you wish not to discuss, I will understand. I have enough of my own.”

Bilbo watched the dwarf and clasped his hands on his lap, twirling his thumbs together in circles. He could hardly tell him the truth of it but Thorin had already made it known his cart story wasn’t believed - it had been weak anyway. He hummed in thought before he narrowed his eyes and pointed his forefinger at the king.

“Thorin, I will tell you how I received my scars: I will tell you after we defeat that dragon and you sit on your throne. The moment you drop that crown onto your head, I’ll tell you my story, hmm? Another gruesome thing you have to look forward to,” he offered before he gave a decisive nod. “Yes, you can hear all about my near death experience then. Though I expect to hear something interesting about yourself in return.”

Thorin arched his eyebrows at him before he let out a breathy chuckle. “We must make an agreement out of it? Very well, Master Baggins. When I sit on my throne, the first person I hold audience with will be you and you will tell me then how you received your scars,” he stated with a wry smile. “What would you consider interesting that I may tell you in return? You have been present for many of my own near death experiences.”

“And I’ve heard stories of others,” Bilbo added, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not sure though I know I will be able to think of something before you take your throne. It will probably be terribly personal as my scars are just that, so I hope you prepare yourself.” He nodded seriously, lifting his hand and waving his finger under the dwarf’s nose.

The king smiled in that soft way of his, inclining his head toward the hobbit before he lowered his gaze to his hands. “I will then,” he replied. “Will you stay in Erebor for a time? I would think the wizard will accompany you back to the Shire but a small reprieve from travel may be welcome. You are. Welcome, that is, to stay in Erebor.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, eyeing the dwarf next to him. He sounded, for the first time to the hobbit’s ears, entirely unsure of his own words. And when Thorin looked at him again, there was really no hiding a smattering of red across his nose; Bilbo started and began to laugh before he thought better of it. Predictably, the moment he did, the king’s features evened out into his mask, only a slight downturn to his brow showing the hint of a frown. The hobbit waved his hand at him.

“Sorry, it’s just that you sound like you _want_ me to. Which is entirely amusing to me because you hardly wanted me to come along to begin with. Do you know, someone mentioned that you’d ask me to stay to help you run the Mountain because of the sound head I have on my shoulders and I will tell you right now, I will absolutely do no such thing,” he teased with a grin. “But of course I’ll try and stick around for a bit. Hopefully the journey home won’t be as long as the one here but I would very much welcome a break. There will be few of us in Erebor for a time and if I can help in any way you might need, I’d be glad to.”

Thorin huffed. “We will need any hands we can get for beginning to restore Erebor but I will not need you beyond that,” he stated, receiving a mock gasp of pain for his efforts. He smiled at the hobbit and shook his head, as if he thought _Bilbo_ were the ridiculous one. “You may have a sound head on your shoulders, Master Baggins, but you would not survive dwarven politics; nor do I think you wish to try. Though the Company and I will be glad to have you with us while we can.”

“Then let us hope Gandalf doesn’t try to immediately corral me into going back home,” Bilbo said, returning the dwarf’s smile before he looked out of the window again. “And you’re right: I most certainly don’t wish to try. You lot are enough as it is.” The king murmured his apparent agreement and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said after a long enough time that the hobbit realized he had begun to doze off in the quiet. When he looked at the king, he was being stared at rather intensely and it wasn’t until he arched his eyebrows in question that the dwarf shifted, looking entirely uncomfortable. He opened his mouth before he clicked it shut and shook his head, sliding off of the hobbit’s bed. “It is no matter. Get some sleep if you can and I will see you at dawn.”

The hobbit watched Thorin look back to him and nodded. “Yes, I’ll see you at that accursed hour,” he replied, offering a dry smile. “We’ll be looking at Erebor a bit more closely tomorrow, won’t we? Go on then, shoo, go get your own sleep.” He waved his hands at the dwarf and the king inclined his head but it was with some hesitancy that he took a step back - he seemed as if he needed to steel himself to even _leave_ but he did manage it. Bilbo watched him go with a furrowed brow, patting his hands against his thighs and wondering if Thorin was far more nervous than he let on - it seemed like it. If only he could hide his own anxiousness as well as that.

Bilbo sighed and looked toward the Mountain once more. As terrified as he was to face down Smaug, he was much more eager to see Thorin and his dwarves back in their home and he would fight for it as well as he could.

——

Morning in Lake-town was chaotic at best. The Company woke just before dawn and though all of their belongings had been piled into the sitting room, nearly all of them felt the need to run through the house one last time in search of anything left behind. When the sun had risen, Thorin was beyond any good humor and it was a king that led them from comfort and to the town square; they were greeted by the majority of the townspeople, who were far more excited than they had been even yet. It was a rather extravagant spectacle as they were led to the docks and provided two boats to get them across the Lake.

As the hobbit stepped into his and held onto the side, he looked at the faces of the people of Lake-town. There were many grins and much laughter; some were crying with their apparent joy at the idea of the Mountain King’s return. The hobbit hoped that if they succeeded they would be able to provide the opportunity for a better home for them - they were living in conditions too harsh to be necessary, in his opinion. He swept his gaze along until he saw two children standing shoulder to shoulder with a third held in front of her siblings; their father was behind them and holding his children close to his chest. Bilbo locked eyes with Bard and unease crept back into the pit of his stomach - the man’s face was void of emotion but after one conversation with him, the hobbit knew full well what was running through his mind. He found he wasn’t able to look away until the boat was pushed from the dock and the Company went forth toward Erebor.

The journey across the Lake was only hours at best and they began their hike at the Northern rocky shores. Erebor loomed close and while it was a truly wondrous sight to look upon, a quiet fell over the Company - they had to _get_ to the Mountain and climb its Western side in hopes to find a door; a door not even the Prince of Erebor had known of and one that was _invisible_. And though they had set out with a day and a half worth of time to do such a thing, Bilbo could not help but worry over their lack of a wizard.

And when they reached the high pass that looked down upon the smote ruins of Dale and brought the gate of Erebor into view, the hobbit’s worry increased tenfold. He had not seen a dragon’s destruction in so long that he had quite forgotten the devastating extent in which it could have. The scorched stone and crumbled structures were enough to send his heart racing and for a frog to develop in his throat; he had not wished to look upon such a thing in his life again. And then Thorin pushed on, despite the fact that Gandalf had said to wait for him in that very spot; Bilbo tried to persuade him to stay, to give the wizard time to catch up as they had some to spare themselves, but he was rebuffed in a manner that set his warning bell’s off - now was not the time to be reckless.

He hoped that Gandalf would hasten his way to them _before_ they reached the door on Durin’s Day as no doubt the stubborn fool of a dwarf would likely not wish to wait for him then either. What had pulled Gandalf from them before they entered Mirkwood and why had it kept him gone for so very long? Bilbo was sure of the wizard’s capabilities but he didn’t feel as if it were anything but a sinister thing that could delay his return. Gandalf had pushed passionately for all of this to be accomplished and the hobbit hardly believed he would leave them to it if he _could_ join them.

The Company left the pass and made for the Western side of the Mountain; it was eerily quiet as no birds nor beasts were to be found anywhere in sight. The fog and chill of approaching winter had them all on edge - it did not help that the king refused to stop until they were at the base of the Mountain. When it was finally allowed, the Company was in dire straits and needed more rest than they would have if Thorin were not so stubborn. It was not to last, however, and after a hearty meal and light dozing, the dwarf roused everyone and they moved on; it was with some apprehension as it was the climb along the slopes and the search for the door that lay ahead of them.

When finally, according to the map, they were near the door into Erebor, a harried Company scrambled to find it, spurred on by the barking of their king. It was during that time when Bilbo had bent down with his hands on his knees and panted, needing a blasted moment for air, that Thorin approached him. The dwarf gave an order for him to keep moving and though it was with somewhat less heat than it had been in the past, it hadn’t sat well with Bilbo because it was entirely _unnecessary_. And indeed, when Thorin moved past him, he had _smelled_ it.

Bilbo had grabbed the king’s wrist before he knew he was even moving and when Thorin looked at him with surprise given the strength of his hold, he watched a glassy glint in blue eyes disappear; it was replaced with concern for the hobbit and Bilbo had hastily let him go with reassurances that he was alright. He really wasn’t - the want for treasure smelled the same on every being he had ever come across. It was somewhat like the tang of copper and helped dragon-kind sniff out their enemies; whether it was to kill them or to bend them to their will depended on _who_ they were sniffing out. Bilbo had smelled the want turn to obsession numerous times and was just as familiar with the scent of gold sickness. It was a pungent odor like that of meat turned and the tinge of copper just beyond it: as a dragon, it was salivating. As a hobbit, the tanginess he smelled on Thorin certainly wasn’t appealing but it wasn’t _rotten_ yet, either; he knew he would have to keep an eye on the king, if not all of the dwarves. They could all concern themselves with gold at a later time.

He did wish, however, that he hadn’t spotted the stair; he had no choice but to inform the Company though their sudden joy was palpable. Relief washed over them as a whole and they made the somewhat precarious climb up dwarven stairs (ridiculous things for a hobbit) and arrived at a ledge in the failing light of the day. The Mountainside was suspiciously flat and it wasn’t difficult to determine they had found the place they needed to be. Only they were nearly twenty-four hours early and Bilbo had a feeling it was going to be the slowest and most painful wait of his life; Thorin was guaranteed to be unbearable on the morrow.

A fire was started and the Company ate their supper while conversing in hushed but enlivened tones. They were home even if some had never been to Erebor before: they wished to see the Halls of their forebears. Bilbo could not begrudge them of that he supposed but as night fell completely and he set his bedroll against the Mountainside, sitting heavily down onto it, he didn’t feel their level of excitement. His entire purpose on this journey would rear its ugly head at him the very next evening.

He had to refrain from whining his displeasure when Thorin dropped his bedroll next to him - he would never be allowed to wallow in his own self-pity in the blasted dwarf’s presence again. The king was obviously aware of his despondency but ignored it with a smirk that made the hobbit want to slap him as he sat down next to him.

“Are you prepared for tomorrow, Master Burglar?” Thorin asked and received a glower in return. He chuckled. “You will do well. Likely far better than any of us could hope for considering your deeds thus far on our Quest.”

Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “Yes, well. Let’s not put anymore pressure on me than there already is, please and thank you. Explain to me what it is I’m going to be doing again? I will be sent in there and once I arrive at the treasury, you wish for me to assess the situation? And look for the dragon? And from what I understand, the treasury is rather massive, so I hope I don’t have to go looking for him. What was the other thing…? Oh yes, you want me to _burgle_ from him. You have mentioned a specific item and I feel as if I won’t be lucky enough to find it immediately.”

Thorin’s hum was considering but the hobbit could see right through it. “It is not large,” the king said slowly, earning himself a groan, “but it is distinct. It is the Arkenstone. The Heart of the Mountain, the King’s Jewel. When I hold the Arkenstone in my hand, all other dwarven realms will swear fealty to me as the king of the greatest realm of all. They will see it as my divine right to rule; a son of Durin and the rightful heir to Erebor will once again hold it - and it likely means we will have slain the dragon. If I were to have need of my kin and call upon them, they would answer without question or they would forfeit an ally in Erebor and would never receive aid of their own. None would do such a thing. If we are to have difficulty in ridding the Mountain of Smaug and I had the Arkenstone in hand, I would call upon Dain of the Iron Hills to send an army, though I wish not to. He refused to aid us in this Quest from the beginning.”

The hobbit’s head spun. “Wait, hold on. Are you saying a stone- it is an _actual_ stone, correct? Alright, so you are saying a stone holds that much sway? And you wish for me to find a small stone in a very large treasure hoard? Do you happen to know where it might be if Smaug hasn’t gotten to it in over one _hundred_ years? How in the world is it distinct?” he asked, raising his eyebrows to his hairline. He squinted at the dwarf when he smiled in _amusement_.

“It was lost to Smaug the day he came and I do not know where it lies. You have keen eyes, Master Baggins, I have confidence in you,” Thorin assured, entirely unhelpfully, before he held his hands up and made an oval shape with them. “It is like so. It is a white gem that casts light of its own, much like a star; when you are close to it, its center is a deep shade of blue. It seems alive and that is why it was named the Heart of the Mountain. You would not miss such a thing and even you, Hobbit of the Shire, will find it captivating.”

Bilbo _stared_. Another bloody glowing white jewel! It amazed him that Thorin and Thranduil despised each other so very much when they were so very _alike_. They could be wonderful friends simply by their mutual love of glowing treasures. The hobbit sighed, burying his face in his hands and mumbling into them before he peered out at the king between two fingers.

“I am going to die,” he declared as he dropped his hands and glared. “I am going to die because of a glowing rock. Alright, fine. I will do my very best in finding it but I expect both the thirteenth and fourteenth shares of the treasure in return.” He waggled his finger under the dwarf’s nose as Thorin chuckled and sent a grin his way. “Yes, hah _hah_. You are lucky it is so unique or I’d tell you where you could stick your burgling nonsense and find it yourself. Well! Let us hope Smaug continues to doze away while I’m down there, yes?”

“He could be dead,” Kili called from his place by the fire. The dwarf was laying on his back with his head on his pack and tossing an apple into the air, catching it. “If we’re very fortunate. It seems a bit strange for no one to have seen him for so long; if nothing is going into the Mountain and he isn’t coming out, he’s not eating, is he? Can’t survive on rats, a thing his size.”

“But we _aren’t_ very fortunate,” Fili responded, flicking his brother’s nose from where he sat next to him. Bilbo was impressed that it didn’t cause Kili to even flinch or lose sight of his apple. “Bilbo seems sure he’s been asleep this entire time.”

“Aye, our hobbit is a skeptical one,” Bofur chimed in from where he sat across the fire as he swiveled his head back and forth. He seemed to be in search of something and after a moment produced his whittling knife with a cheer, grabbing a stick of wood from his pack. “You should really try to be more positive, Bilbo, it’ll add years to your life.” He grinned as the hobbit sent him a flat stare.

Bilbo sniffed. “When you lot are ready to volunteer to be in my place, I’ll take your opinions into consideration then, thank you _very_ much,” he retorted, waving his finger at the Company. “I am surprised you haven’t already asked me to defeat Smaug on my own.”

“If we thought you could, we would have, laddie,” Balin added, because he was a traitor. He smiled at the hobbit as he wrinkled his nose at him. “As Gandalf has said, the dragon hasn’t smelled your kind before and if he’s truly alive down there, your scent will confuse him.”

The hobbit snorted. “It’s a good thing I haven’t been gallivanting with dwarves for a year then, isn’t it,” he did not ask, rolling his eyes. At the silence that greeted his statement, he looked around the Company and watched as they sent furtive glances between one another before he swung his own gaze to Thorin. They had apparently not thought of that; to be honest, neither had Bilbo. And though he knew it wasn’t dwarf or hobbit smell he was concerned about, he still felt his stomach swoop swiftly downward because _that_ was something that hadn’t occurred to _any_ of them. _That!_ He groaned loudly. “I am going to die.”

Thorin kindly went into much further detail with him about Erebor’s treasury after that and what he could expect to find; it did little to appease him but knowing different routes out of the place was still welcome. Bilbo felt very strongly that he would need them.

——

If Bilbo was honest with himself, he could admit that a small part of him had felt relieved when the Company thought they missed something on the map and had made a grave mistake at sunset the next evening. He didn’t wish to give up, however, as they’d gone on for much too long and sacrificed more than their fair share to get where they were. And then the light of the moon shone and well. Well, the door into Erebor appeared and with the key passed down from Thorin’s father, the king opened it.

As the dwarf entered the Mountain, Bilbo’s heart clenched with sympathy at the emotion in his voice, in Balin’s, and on every one of their faces. He had never had his home taken from him; but when he himself walked into the hall made of stone, he had nearly fallen backwards into Ori. The hobbit mumbled an excuse for his blanching but it was in somewhat of a daze that he listened to Thorin and Balin run through his purpose once more. The elderly dwarf escorted him down the correct hall and wished him luck in finding the Arkenstone; the moment he was left alone, Bilbo immediately slumped against the wall and threw his hand over his nose.

Smaug was _very_ much alive, just as he knew he would be, and his _smell_ was permeating the air. If the hobbit had been lead in blindly, he would have assumed the dragon lay right in front of him. Not only was the odor overwhelming but a heavy blanket of heat came with it and Bilbo knew that any animal with half a brain would flee the moment they felt it. It was Smaug’s mark; it was his dominion and he had left more than one warning of it - and more than one sign of what any chose to face if they ventured into the Mountain.

Bilbo thunked his head back against the stone wall twice before he pushed himself from it and hesitantly made his way down the hall; he had signed a contract and he would see it fulfilled. The golden glow that grew in intensity as he walked was telling enough of where he was but when the hobbit turned the corner and saw a vast cavern before him, he had to take pause.

The treasury was lit by the light of the gold alone and he couldn’t even _see_ it yet: what he could see was what seemed to be an endless void ahead of him, towering stone pillars holding the Mountain above. Bilbo swallowed and forced himself to walk further forward, brushing his sweaty palms off on his thighs as he went. When he stepped to the edge of a stair that led down to the wealth of Erebor, he felt himself sway on his feet and had to reach out to grab the stone stairs leading above him to keep himself upright.

“Oh goodness gracious me,” Bilbo whispered breathlessly, his heart rabbiting away in his throat as he swept his gaze slowly along what he could see. What he could see was still _nothing_ Thorin or any of the others could prepare him for - ‘piles of gold’ was perhaps the most gross understatement he had ever heard in all his life.

One _hill_ of it could cover the entirety of a dragon and there were _endless_ hills: Thror had gone mad over it and Bilbo was shocked no one else had sunk with him. There was enough wealth in _one_ Mountain to likely carry all of Middle Earth for a good long while and the hobbit was sickened by it; of course it had drawn a dragon! And Thorin was so desperate to sit on all of it himself.

Bilbo took in deep breaths to rid himself of his spotting vision and pushed away from the stone when he was able. Right. He had a job to do: he had to find the Arkenstone. As he took his first shaky footsteps down the stairs, he shook his head as if trying to rid himself of a fly - _right_. That would be a simple task, wouldn’t it? Finding one stone in all of this nonsense, he would _surely_ not fail!

When the hobbit reached the last few stairs and felt a warm piece of gold beneath his heel, he stopped and looked forward at the glinting terrain before him. Now that he was closer to the hoard, he could see smatterings of greens and reds, purples and blues; all manner of precious gems mixed in with coin. Bilbo closed his eyes and reached to his trouser pocket, slipping his hand inside and brushed his fingers over a cool piece of his own gold. He pulled the ring from his pocket and looked down at it, feeling his nose twitch.

“Best get on with it,” the hobbit mumbled to himself and slipped it onto his finger, falling into the familiar world of the ring. Smaug would smell him and Smaug would hear him, but Smaug wouldn’t see him until Bilbo deemed it time for him to; and so he left the safety of the stair and stepped into gold, which welcomed him with tinkling fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf: Smaug ain't never smelled hobbit before  
> Bilbo: -literally rolls around in the dirt with dwarves for a year-
> 
> It makes me laugh every time I watch the movie, I swear. >_> Smaug's next and I had fun writing him! 
> 
> Comments are welcome and very appreciated! And thank you so much to everyone who reads this story. :) [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	6. Chapter 6

The gold and precious gems that shifted beneath his feet may as well have been the sounds of war drums and the screeches of orcs during a battle; he was sure any living thing in Erebor could hear them. The hobbit was only concerned about one and much to his dismay, he hadn’t any idea what direction the dragon was in - he could smell him and feel his heat but it was all-consuming and he couldn’t pinpoint it.

So, really, Bilbo Baggins felt as if Smaug were under every single hill of gold he wandered by or, Eru save him, walked over. He traveled to a high hill of it and used the height to gaze around the treasury, unable to help a high-pitched groan: he would be lucky to spy a full suit of armor made of diamonds and amethysts let alone one small stone! The hobbit rested his hands behind his head in his distress, swiveling it back and forth before he glanced back the way he had come - he had looked back every so often to make sure he knew where he was. And, in part, he hoped to see a throng of dwarves come to save him. They didn’t.

Bilbo ventured down the hill and, like all others, managed to slide down from midday way to the bottom and make as much noise as was possible. And like every time before, he froze for a solid minute to listen for any signs of movement that didn’t come from him; he heard none and wondered what it might take to wake the dragon. He hoped to not find out. The hobbit skittered around a large fallen pillar of stone and when he emerged on the other side, he faltered, blinking at what lay before him. Well. They weren’t made into suits of armor but they were still bright and shining diamonds - could it? No no, he sincerely doubted the Arkenstone just so happened to fall in with the gemstones. But he was beginning to feel rather hopeless and ventured forward anyway.

The hobbit plucked a diamond the size of his fist up and stared at it with wide eyes before he tossed it aside, wincing at the harsh clang. Right. Silence, _silence_ was his greatest friend down here and he had betrayed it in every way possible already. Bilbo grumbled as he rooted through diamonds ranging from the size of his head to half the size of his pinky nail. They eventually began to blend together and he suspected the ‘glow’ Thorin mentioned wasn’t anything like the rays of light catching on their many facets. He huffed out a sigh and tossed a bird’s egg-sized stone aside, pushing himself to his feet and planting his hands on his hips. He turned in a circle, glanced back toward the stairs, then chose a random direction, beginning to head in it.

He only got halfway up the hill in front of him before the middle of it nearly caved in and he saw a flash of brilliant red scales shimmering in the golden light before they were covered once more. Bilbo froze, halfway bent over with one hand hovering above the gold and blinked owlishly at what he had just seen - he had _seen_ it, yes? He had not imagined it. They were dragon scales, he was sure of it but it left him in a pickle; every movement he made right then put him at risk of being heard and he _truly did not want that_.

His heart rabbited away in protest in his chest and he felt a trickle of cold sweat leave his brow, hesitant to brush it away. Even breathing felt like far too much right then but he could not stand there forever: Bilbo swallowed and carefully stood straight, wincing as gold shifted beneath his feet. He took an experimental step back and nope, that was no good, because it sent a river of gold flowing down behind him - it was _nothing_ compared to the vibration that went through the hill below him and Bilbo’s eyes snapped upward, staring at the spot he had seen red. The entire hill shuddered again and then it began to _move_ and it was certainly time to back away; as the gold shifted with the blasted fire-drake’s movements, he used the opportunity to crawl down the hill with care. The moment his feet hit stone, a massive waterfall of gold began to appear and for the briefest of seconds, Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at.

The flash of gold he saw didn’t belong to any metal, no, it belonged to an _eye_. The hobbit stared as Smaug’s head lifted from the gold, _slowly,_ because he could _smell_ him, Bilbo absolutely knew that. His pupil was dilated as the coin continued to cascade down his long snout and off of the many protruding scales and spikes that marred the side of his face. The hobbit felt rather hypnotized by the sight but felt fear hit him like a ton of bricks when the beast’s nostrils expanded and he watched him scent the air, his pupil narrowing to a slit.

Bilbo bit down on his tongue so he would not whimper - his past life didn’t matter one bit. The hobbit was not even as tall as the bridge of Smaug’s nose was wide and his eye was likely a third of his size alone: when he had last been in the same skies as this dragon, he was only the slightest bit smaller than him and had two _more_ limbs than he did. He never would have felt intimidated then but now- surely now, no one could blame him if he were to be sick.

As Smaug’s eye rolled, Bilbo felt his heart jump in his chest before he remembered he couldn’t be seen - no, not _seen_. But as the dragon sniffed once more and his pupil dilated again, the hobbit felt he really didn’t have to be. And indeed, a deep rumble left the dragon’s chest as he began to slide his long neck forward; Bilbo watched with some horror as the spikes along the ridge of it grew in size with each that appeared from the hill of gold before his eyes snapped back to Smaug as the dragon’s head crept toward him.

“Well,” he said, sending Bilbo’s stomach straight to the floor because it was _that_ voice, “ _thief._ I can _smell_ you. But where _are_ you?” Smaug’s head slithered past the hobbit, who took only a minuscule step back to avoid it but it was all he needed; the dragon froze and Bilbo watched the precise moment he was _known_. The dragon’s head slowly turned toward him and his eye flashed nearly yellow in the light of the treasury.

“Ohh,” he rumbled, a sly sort of cunning in his voice. Bilbo felt icy cold dread slide down his spine but he could not move, he could _not_ give himself away yet! “Oh, but this is strange. I have not smelled _another_ in some time and yet I cannot see you. Will you not step into the light? There is no need to be shy here.” His eye swept across the very place where Bilbo was standing and the hobbit was unable to help his hitched gasp. It was enough.

The dragon’s eyes snapped to him and Bilbo ran - he refused to be in the open air if he were to take his ring off. The hobbit heard a growl from behind and the ground shook as Smaug followed him, both by the sound of the padding of his feet and by the gold kicking up behind them. There was a sizable stone structure ahead of him that was high enough for him to duck under but not enough for Smaug to follow: Bilbo stumbled into it and firmly planted himself against the wall, his chest heaving as he sucked in the air he had been depriving himself of. He clutched at his chest as he watched the thumb attached to Smaug’s wing hand drop onto the ground just in front of him, the long talon protruding from it gleaming gold. The dragon lowered his head until it appeared before his wing and he peered under the stone, sweeping his gaze along it until he narrowed in on where the hobbit was.

“Why do you hide, _kin?_ ” Smaug asked with a terrible amusement that sent tears springing to Bilbo’s eyelashes. “What has happened to you? Did you think I might welcome you here? Or perhaps you came in search of the _Pull_ and yet when you knew I lay here, you continued into the Mountain. But why? Have you come to steal-“

“No! No no,” Bilbo cried because he would _not_ be cowed. He couldn’t be. If he sat there and didn’t say a word, Smaug would simply breathe fire and he would be quite over and done with. The hobbit winced as that blasted eye found him again and he watched as the dragon breathed his scent in one long, deep inhale. “N-No, no, I haven’t come to steal from you- ah, no, I would not dare do such a thing. A dragon’s hoard is a dragon’s hoard, of course, and I’d be a fool to think otherwise. I wish not to stake a claim on your gold, I-I- I have s-simply come to see you once more in my time-“

“Once more!” Smaug interrupted and his eye narrowed before he suddenly reared back. Bilbo tried not to topple over as the dragon pushed away from the stone and so far ahead of him that the hobbit could see the entirety of his lengthy body appear - his tail curled across the gold like a snake and when he lowered his neck to look under the stone again, he looked much the same himself. “I _know_ you. I have smelled you before - I did _wonder_. I wondered what happened to my kin after the War of the North but I never thought to smell _you_ again. Step forward and let us speak as brothers.”

Bilbo bit his lip as he felt an odd haze attempt to fall over his mind, forcing him to wrinkle his nose and dig his toes into the rock below. He started when the realization hit him - the dragon-spell. The dragon-spell and Smaug was attempting to use it on him; it took him by such surprise he managed a rather hysterical laugh.

“That won’t work on me,” he pointed out, watching the dragon’s eyes narrow as they continued to stare under his not-very-safe shelter. “I wondered about that myself but I suppose I’m still above that, so to speak. Small as I am now. I wouldn’t bother wasting the energy.” The hobbit watched as Smaug’s lips lifted and exposed his teeth - well, perhaps it was not the _best_ idea to laugh at him.

“Then step forward and show yourself. Come along, Night Rider, show me _who_ you are now,” Smaug growled, the rumble of his voice vibrating the gold beneath Bilbo’s feet.

The hobbit blanched, pressing his hands flat against his chest as he felt his stomach turn. Well. That was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time and hadn’t even thought of in years - _right_. Night Rider, in Black Speech, that was what he was mostly known by. He, much like Smaug, was a fire-drake. While the one that stood in front of him had dark scales along the ridge of his back, Bilbo had deep red, nearly black scales covering the majority of his body. Only his softer belly had lightened into a dull orange; it helped as most battles had to be fought in the dark of night given the orcs’ nature. Bilbo had been talented at lying in wait for enemies to come, whether it had been on the ground or perhaps clinging to the side of Mountains - they did not see him until it was much too late.

Bilbo eyed the serpent before him as he took in a deep breath and slid his hand to his ring. He twisted it on his finger before he pulled it off, letting out a gust of air as he moved forward, slipping the band back into his pocket. The hobbit stepped out from the shadow of the stone above him and stared up at Smaug as the dragon stared back down at him.

“There you are,” he murmured, sounding thoughtful as he swooped in low, ignoring the flinch Bilbo gave. He put his snout right up to the hobbit and inhaled sharply again before he twisted his head around to peer at him - Bilbo could see himself reflected off of the lens of his golden eye. “But what has happened to you? You were larger when last I saw you.”

“I was thinking the _very_ same thing,” Bilbo managed, his voice trembling nearly as much as his entire body was. “You didn’t seem quite as magnificent last time I saw you. I never thought I’d be on _this_ end in my life but, ah, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Smaug agreed as he reared his head back. “And why have you come? Would you have me believe you mean not to attempt to take my gold from me?”

Bilbo nodded as he let out a small laugh, motioning his hands up and down along himself. “Can’t do that very well, I’m afraid,” he choked out with some hoarseness. “No, I’ve not come here to steal your gold, Smaug, I find I’m rather done with that business. I was a long time ago, from the moment I took an arrow to my belly from a Man-“ at that, Smaug hissed his displeasure “-yes, it wasn’t pleasant. A wizard came along and saved my life.”

“ _Wizards,_ ” Smaug all but spat as he lifted his head and swung his eyes around his treasure hoard as if one might appear. The dragon _did_ believe him because he hadn’t lied: not yet. He let out a harsh snort from his nostrils and looked back down at Bilbo. “A wizard can claim to have turned you into this? What _are_ you?” Bilbo might have genuinely laughed at the sudden curiosity in the dragon’s voice but he was feeling a mite too ill for it.

“A Halfling,” he answered, rocking forward on his toes. “Creatures from the far West, most interesting things. I found myself one of them not far from here, actually, just North, for the first time - the wizard needed me in a smaller form to tend to my wounds, you see. It was either that or let the ravens pick at my eyes. I’ve not come here to do anything but gaze at you.”

Smaug was silent for a moment and when he chuckled, it was a very terrible thing indeed. “Now that _is_ a lie. You have come for something more than to gaze at me, though that is true. But what have you come _for?_ ” he asked before he twisted his head around and faced the direction of the hall Bilbo had entered from. “Does it have anything to do with your dwarf friends?”

The hobbit took the opportunity to fish his ring from his pocket and held it tightly in a fist as he clasped his hands behind his back. He knew Smaug smelled them on him the moment he was aware of his presence, so there was no use lying, but he wasn’t going to inform the dragon of anything else. He cleared his throat, blinking hard against the dryness in his eyes as the dragon turned back to look down his nose at him. The hobbit was fairly sure he had received that very look from nearly every single Big Folk he had come across on this Quest; who knew it would appear the same on a dragon?

“Well. Sort of,” he allowed, watching Smaug’s eyes narrow at him. “I think you know very well who is out there at this moment.”

“Him and his twelve friends,” Smaug agreed and at the hobbit’s palpable surprise, the dragon’s chest rumbled with mirth again. “You have forgotten our strengths. That _is_ a pity. Oakenshield! He is here to reclaim his Mountain, yes, I guessed his purpose. You know his Quest will fail; have you not felt it? The stirrings in the Forest? A darkness is coming. Have you led him here to die for your own gains?”

 _Blast_. So, Gandalf and Beorn were entirely accurate in their fears - _something_ was gathering and that something, according to the wizard, would turn its eye on the Mountain. Right. Well. He quite _hated_ Gandalf for leaving him to this alone then because while Smaug was dangerous by himself, Smaug with a _purpose_ was even moreso.

The hobbit sighed. “No,” he replied, his own eyes flickering down to the dragon’s wing hands. He very much saw the muscles tensing and his talons bracing the stone floor; when he looked beyond Smaug’s chest, he could see his massive hind legs shifting in the gold for purchase and looked back to the dragon’s eyes. “I didn’t lead him here nor do I wish for him to die. Try again.”

Bilbo slipped the ring on the moment the dragon pushed himself forward and ran - Smaug roared his displeasure for it and the hobbit felt the ground shake as he followed. Bilbo doubled back as soon as Smaug gained on him and _felt_ the dragon’s annoyance as he skidded to a near stop in order to twist his momentum back toward the hobbit. It gave him enough time to run past his previous hiding spot and he scrambled over a pile of gold, fully intending to head for the stone pillars along the side of the Mountain that would offer him more cover. He did not, however, intend to choose a pile of gold that was truly mountainous with a steep drop. He yelped as he lost his footing and slid down it, attempting to dig his heels in; it only swung his head over them and he tumbled the rest of the way down. Before he could hit the stone, the mountain of gold above him burst as if it had been hit with a tremendous force and the hobbit found himself showered in so many coins it weighed him down and blocked out any light - but stopped him from potentially breaking any bones on the hard floor. Smaug carried himself over the gold and when Bilbo was sure he would not be stepped on, he shoved himself up and felt the coins slide down along him and give way as he found his feet again.

He ran for the pillars but yelped when a tail whipped around and smacked into them with a force enough to rattle the entire Mountain. Smaug clearly knew where he had been heading. “Come now!” the dragon shouted, a malicious smile in his voice. “Do you think I will let him take my gold from me? I will not part from it, Night Rider! Not a single coin! But you needn’t aid him. When the darkness comes it will swallow everything it does not need - including you. The dwarf is already destined to fall and I fear he may before even then.”

Bilbo sprinted once more into the open gold, shaking himself of Smaug’s words lest he become distracted; he had a feeling he knew what the dragon meant. The hobbit heard him tumbling behind him and knew he was doing just what Bilbo had said he would do: he was a cat playing with a mouse. The hobbit veered left and was hit with another shower of coin as the dragon planted his arm into a hill of gold so he could pull himself forward and follow just as easily; Bilbo ducked between two piles of coin and when he came out on the other side, it was to another towering amount of it that petered steeply down. He threw his gaze over his shoulder in time to see Smaug’s neck pass over him as the dragon purposefully smacked his shoulders into the gold and sent it - and the hobbit, effectively - flying down the hill.

The hobbit couldn’t make heads or tails of whatever direction he was facing as he fell and only when he hit solid stone and let out a cry, rolling numerous feet forward, did his world finally stop spinning. Bilbo panted, the breath having been knocked clean out of him as he stared at the black void above him, no ceiling in sight; he attempted to roll into a sitting position and found he couldn’t quite yet, which was truly a pity. Smaug whirled around until he was facing the hobbit again and his eyes were stuck on just the spot he was in.

“That is a nice trick you have,” the dragon murmured as he lowered his head, peering at where he heard the hobbit’s puffing, not the least bit affected by his ‘play’ so far. “What do you carry, _Halfling?_ It is made of gold but there is something to it- no, it is something _more_ than only gold, isn’t it?”

As he spoke, Bilbo felt the air around him begin to restrict, which was exactly the opposite of what he needed. He gasped as he felt the ring jump on his finger quite like it had a mind of its own but he needed to _breathe-_ the hobbit yanked the ring off with some effort and was met with the clarity that came from the proper world. He gulped in air as he stared up at the dragon hovering over him and wondered why he didn’t just bloody _do_ it.

“Do you require a moment?” Smaug asked him and Bilbo blinked twice. He began to laugh, more of a gasping wheeze than anything and clutched at his stomach, watching the dragon slither back from him. Ah, _yes,_ the way of _dragons_. No, he wasn’t done with him _quite_ yet.

Bilbo continued to chuckle until he pushed himself up on his elbow, brushing tears of amusement from his eyes with his free hand. He sniffed and sat up with a wince, waving dismissively at the dragon. “Yes, just a few, if you don’t-“

 _Oh._ Well. He _truly_ was not done with him and Bilbo stared helplessly as, not twenty feet from him, a shining gem caught his eye. It was sitting innocently in gold perhaps a foot off the ground and did _indeed_ glow like a star. The hobbit swallowed as he stared at what he knew to be the Arkenstone and when he finally was able to swing his gaze back to Smaug, the dragon was staring right back at him with a serpent’s version of a smile; it was soft, gentle, and made his stomach churn. Smaug knew _blasted_ well why he was there.

The hobbit cleared his throat and pushed himself to his knees before he managed to stand on wobbly legs, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He clutched at them as he looked back to the Arkenstone; it was a small thing, to be of such importance, but even he felt somewhat drawn to it. Otherworldly gems tended to do that. Bilbo ran the back of his hand across his nose, still clutching the ring tight in his fist. When he looked back to the dragon, he pointed at the Arkenstone and raised his eyebrows.

“May I?” he asked politely and Smaug inclined his head toward him.

“Please,” he answered graciously and Bilbo chuckled. He was going to die, he was entirely sure of it.

The hobbit walked to the stone, slipping his ring into his pocket as he went, and stared down at it for a good long moment before he reached down and picked it up. He hummed his surprise as he turned it over in his hands, watching the white glow bounce off of his skin and clothing. “It’s warm,” he stated, looking at Smaug. “Warmer than it should be, I mean.”

“The Heart of the Mountain,” Smaug replied as if he were lecturing a fauntling. “That is why they call it so. Oakenshield is here for it and I am almost tempted to let you take it to him. He desires it and it will turn his heart and bend his mind to madness. I can already smell it in the air. Can you not yourself? An enticing scent.” The dragon tipped his head back and sniffed twice; Bilbo watched him warily because he _didn’t_ smell a lie himself and he knew what he _had_ smelled on Thorin.

“ _This_ little thing?” he asked lightly as he tossed the stone into the air and caught it, feeling the rumble of Smaug’s growl more than he heard it. He smiled as he looked beyond the dragon’s girth and for some form of shelter; he would either be gobbled up or burned with dragon-fire and given the way the dragon’s body heat increased, he had a feeling which of the two he would choose. The tell-tale glow wasn’t present but, well, soon enough it _would_ be. Bilbo pursed his lips before he faced the dragon and slipped his free hand into his pocket, plucking his golden friend out. He held his palm face up toward the beast. The ring lay as innocently as the Arkenstone had and the moment Smaug’s eyes reached it, they widened. Not only was it gold but as he and Bilbo already knew, it was something _more_.

“Do you know, I’m not sure what it is,” the hobbit commented as he shifted the ring to the edge of his thumb and flicked it into the air. The dragon’s eyes followed it and his lips pulled back to reveal his top row of teeth - he _wanted_ it. “Strange, isn’t it? All of this gold and yet it feels like the most precious piece in here.”

Smaug seemed to realize his mistake just one second before Bilbo pushed the ring onto his finger and ran - he had let him put his hands on the Arkenstone. The Arkenstone that found a very safe place in his inner tunic pockets. The hobbit did all he could to not be trampled on by a suddenly thrashing and roaring dragon; he dodged a wing hand as it smashed into the ground in front of him and skidded under the arm it was attached to. And then he broke into a blistering pace, ignoring the ring’s apparent insistence on not letting him breathe; surprisingly, it eased the further away from Smaug he got and quite like someone releasing his neck from a hold, any difficulty to pull in air disappeared in the blink of an eye. The hobbit didn’t let himself think on the bizarreness of it as the dragon could still _hear_ him if he calmed himself enough to try - it seemed as if Smaug had fallen for his own rage and was keen on destroying the surrounding area in an attempt to potentially kill the hobbit in the process.

But Bilbo was far enough away from him now and when he saw the stair he used to enter the treasury not far ahead of him, he didn’t bloody _care_ if it was a trap because he hadn’t been so lucky this entire Quest and it wasn’t likely to start right _then_. He simply continued to run and leapt two stairs at a time as he reached them; the roars of Smaug faded as the dragon pushed in the opposite direction the hobbit had gone and Bilbo reached the top of the stairs, happily yanking his ring off. He would see his dwarves in only moments-

Bilbo hit a solid body and let out a muffled cry once he turned the corner for the hall. He was caught by sturdy hands before he could fall and he blinked in some shock at Thorin Oakenshield; the dwarf was breathing as if he had run just as much as Bilbo had but the moment the hobbit could stand on his own two feet, Thorin released him as if _burned_ and swept his gaze along him.

“Thorin-“

“Did you find it?” Thorin interrupted him, raising his eyebrows and taking a step closer to the hobbit. Bilbo felt his heart sink: it was _there_ , all of it was _there_. The blasted stench and the glassy-eyed look, things that were not present just _hours_ before - Thorin had sent him in with a smile and an encouraging squeeze to his shoulder. “Did you find the Arkenstone?”

Bilbo stared helplessly at the king, feeling his shoulders hunch because he couldn’t - he _couldn’t_ give it to him. He _knew_ what would happen if he did. The hobbit wouldn’t let another fall to gold sickness (and the dragon-madness soaked into the stone in his pocket) if he could help it. Though, whatever Thorin was reading on his face had his eyes narrowing suspiciously and Orcrist was certainly a beautiful sword when it shone with gold - the hobbit only wished it weren’t pointed at him. He was fully prepared to flee again if he needed to.

He didn’t. Smaug had calmed himself and Bilbo knew which of the two posed the greatest threat to him then - he snapped his head to the dragon who had stopped his thrashing and scented him out again once he had settled down. And Smaug’s eyes lit up the moment they fell on the king. Thorin’s want for the stone seeped away as quickly as it came, taking the smell with it, and Bilbo struggled as it sent his head spinning - he felt a hand on his arm as the dwarf yanked him back and Smaug charged, his wings extending to carry him swiftly across the distance he was from them.

The Company toppled out onto the stairs from the hall with battle cries, having apparently followed their king, and leapt from them with shouts not a second after as they saw what was currently bearing down upon them. The gold broke their fall and Bilbo was running for his life once again as Smaug’s roar shook the Mountain - he wondered how long he would be running from the dragon before he had to run from Thorin.

——

Despite the scent of dragon-kind on him, Smaug still had some issues differentiating Bilbo from the dwarves - that much was apparent when they began to sneak through the Mountain under his very nose. The hobbit wasn’t sure where they were or how far they had to go before they reached the forges, their decided upon destination: he simply knew he was willing to try. He needed to escape the Mountain the moment he could - he could not risk Thorin’s ire after they killed the dragon. _If_ they did.

It seemed rather hopeless when Smaug sniffed them out and they had to make a break for it to the forges with him fast on their heels. Bilbo felt it redundant to insult the dragon to get him to use his fire (he was going to do it anyway) to light the forges but it _had_ worked and as Thorin sent him off, Smaug had attempted to break through the vast metal beams separating him from the Company.

As Bilbo had climbed the stairs to the lever the king had sent him to, a rather terrible shriek had ripped from Smaug’s throat and he had whirled around with wide eyes to see gold on his own. The dragon had roared _‘Halfing’_ at him and, as much as he may have wanted to kill Thorin and the Company, he wanted the ring from Bilbo more. And the hobbit risked being outed by the beast in his attempts; he couldn’t afford it but he had no idea how to _stop_ him.

When Smaug finally burst into the massive cavern that held the forges, he was distracted by Thorin Oakenshield; the hobbit was horrified when he realized he was thanking his lucky stars for such a thing but falling carts filled with heavy rock from the Mountain saved the blasted dwarf’s life. And Bilbo ran again, the Arkenstone an increasingly heavy weight against his heart as he did so; he could do nothing but ignore it when the dragon caught sight of him once Thorin had disappeared.

“You will give me what is mine!” Smaug bellowed after him and Bilbo leapt onto a flat, steep and sweeping stone pillar that led to the floor beneath them, only barely in time as he heard the dragon’s wing hand smash into the place he had just been. The hobbit slipped down the pillar and with a cry, crashed into the floor; he scrambled to his feet and ran for an archway, the heat of the dragon burning against his back. As the hobbit flew past the archway, he had no time to process the hall before him - it was too enormous and too grand. Bilbo shouted his surprise as Smaug burst through the stone pillars above and sent rock flying; as pieces skittered across the floor, the hobbit felt far too terrified to look back.

He did not need to. Smaug grasped at the pillars lining the walls with his wings and pushed himself forward and beyond the hobbit with a wildly thrashing tail following him. Bilbo ducked as he felt the rush of wind as it sailed over his head and skidded to a stop as the dragon whirled around to face him, his golden eyes flashing in anger.

“I can smell it on you! You smell of Halfling and dwarf and _Man_ ,” Smaug spat as he stepped closer to tower over the hobbit again. “Did the Lake-men promise you fealty if you took my gold? Did you think I would let it happen, _Night Rider?_ You will give me what you carry and I will kill you quickly! And then those- those Lake-men, who are so cowardly they only speak falsehoods for gains- no, I will show them what is to be gained by scheming with dwarf filth!”

Bilbo backed away as he stared at the dragon, whose wide eyes were rolling in his fury and inhaled sharply. “They have nothing to do with this!” he cried, watching Smaug’s attention snap back to him. The dragon showed his teeth as he bore down on the hobbit. “Leave them out of this, they haven’t _schemed_ with anyone! We are who disturbed you and _only_ we!”

Smaug growled as he lowered his head and peered down at Bilbo from only feet away. “You care about them, do you?” he murmured, his deep voice resonating off of the cold stone floors. “What would you be willing to do for them? If you hand over what is mine now, I will let you live and kill _them_ quickly. Go on, _kin_ , give it to me.” The dragon lifted his wing hand and slammed it down onto the ground next to Bilbo, who stumbled and tripped over a fallen stone. As he fell onto his rear, he scrambled backward, wincing at the sound of the dragon’s talons scraping the floor. “ _Give it to me!_ ”

“Killing them solves nothing!” Bilbo shouted, flinching as a hot gust of air burst over him from the dragon’s huff of annoyance. “You have already destroyed their lives once-“

“If you will not give it to me, I will burn you and take it from your _corpse,_ ” Smaug hissed at him, rearing his head back and staring down at the hobbit with narrowed eyes. “It will not be harmed by fire and you know it as well as I, don’t you?” He opened his maw and Bilbo watched as it began to glow, his heart leaping into his throat as his breath stuttered in his lungs.

“Here!” a familiar voice shouted from behind Bilbo and he felt an irrational wave of relief as Smaug’s eyes lifted. “ _Worm!_ ”

The ground beneath the hobbit vibrated from the dragon’s growl as he stared at Thorin - Bilbo slid to his feet and whirled around to look toward the dwarf. He faltered, blinking in confusion as he stared at where the king stood far above the ground: it looked like he was atop a towering stone _mold_. The hobbit backed away until he was under Smaug’s neck and swung his gaze to the dwarf’s.

As far as Thorin was from him, Bilbo saw his eyes on him and his stomach took a tumble through the floor. No, he was not gazing at the dragon at all: hard eyes were locked onto the hobbit and they were swimming with livid _fury_. He assumed Smaug spoke of the Arkenstone as he knew nothing of the ring but it hardly mattered - Bilbo carried both. He swallowed before he grit his teeth as the dragon’s chest rumbled above him.

“You see it now. Do you smell it? He knows you have lost him it,” he murmured and twisted his neck around to look down at the hobbit. “You have lost a great many things today, _Halfling_. You can watch _him_ die before I kill you. I will once again prove why _I_ am _King_ Under the Mountain.” Smaug turned his eyes back to Thorin and pushed himself forward with horrifying speed toward the dwarf.

The hobbit fell to the ground again to avoid being hit with strong back claws or a tail that sliced through the air in front of him like a whip. He let out a groan of despair as he watched Smaug and moved to his feet, intent on running after him, though he didn’t know what he could do. He only knew that he couldn’t watch Thorin or any of the others die while he cowered in a corner, like the dragon no doubt thought he would.

“This Mountain belongs to dwarves, as does its gold,” Thorin said, his deep voice resonating around the hall and stopping the hobbit in his tracks. “We will not fall to you once more: we will take back what you _stole_.” Smaug’s bark of laughter grated on Bilbo’s ears.

He pushed forward again, running toward the dragon’s left but when he looked up, what he saw gave him pause. Members of the Company were behind the stone Thorin was standing on and they held massive chains in their hands - chains that looked as if they were attached to it. Bilbo looked at Thorin’s own hand around a similar one and felt the realization like a kick to his belly; he turned and sprinted for the stair at his left that would lead him away from the ground floor, hearing Smaug speak but not what he said. _Gold_ , that was what sat in there and now he knew what the dwarf’s plan was. He knew in his heart, as much as he wished he were wrong, that it wouldn’t kill the dragon. Heat and fire were at their very _core;_ they were hatched in it.

The crack of stone falling to the floor pulled a cry from the hobbit as he scampered up the stairs and whirled around to watch. The golden glow from the statue of a king lit the hall and stole his very breath away - from the looks of the dragon that stood frozen and gaping at it, he wasn’t the only one. Bilbo inhaled and held it as he backed away and thumped into a stone pillar; the gold could not be set and he watched as it burst from the light casing it had been developing. Liquid fire spilled forth through the hall and with a shriek, Smaug attempted to rear back from it, but the weight was more than he could handle. The hobbit watched as the writhing dragon was knocked over and into the rapidly growing pool of gold.

As the ripples steadied and the dwarves yelled their joy, Bilbo stared at where he had seen Smaug’s head fall; he stared as it shot above the gold. The dragon screamed his rage as he pulled himself from the ground and the hobbit, for a very foolish moment, thought he would turn and attempt to kill them. His heart sank as he did quite the opposite and vowed his revenge on the people of Lake-town even as he ran for the stone wall ahead, his body gleaming with golden scales. In his anger, he had pushed his want for the ring aside and it pained the hobbit; he wished the dragon had turned to him again and not innocents.

Bilbo cried out as he began to run after the dragon but as Smaug crashed through the stone and into the world outside, he knew it would be far too late to call for him. The hobbit continued on anyway and ignored his heart attempting to burst from his chest in his exertion as he ran to the end of the hall and began to climb over fallen stone. Cold air hit him and he raised his gaze, watching Smaug, already in the night sky, spread his wings and begin to fly South. With Bard’s pleas repeating in his mind, Bilbo climbed until he reached the frozen base of the Mountain and sprinted forward again, watching the dark shape of a dragon move swiftly toward the homes of unsuspecting _families_.

The hobbit heard distant shouts from the Company behind him as he scaled the rocky and broken stone of what may have been a post at some point near Dale; he could not look away. He wouldn’t let himself because _he_ had done this. _He_ had set Smaug on Lake-town and he wouldn’t be so cowardly as to not see what wroth he had brought down upon them; wroth Bard had asked him not to inspire. Bilbo scrambled to the top of the stone and came to a quick stop so he didn’t topple over the edge and watched with a stab of pain in his heart as the dragon’s chest began to glow and with it, a burst of fire left his throat, drawing a thick line straight through Lake-town. Bilbo clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle his whimper as he stared - he wished to go to them but he knew it would be in vain. What could he do but burn with them?

“Halfling!” a bellow from behind him came and Bilbo whirled around in fright. Of course: the dwarf would only have one thing on his mind. He watched as Thorin climbed the steep rocks with the Company not far behind and braced himself as the king stomped to him - he didn’t even spare a _glance_ at the burning town of Men. “Where is it? Where is the Arkenstone? You _will_ give it to _me._ ”

The dwarf’s hands weren’t on him yet but it seemed a near thing. “Thorin, they’re dying,” Bilbo whispered and watched an enraged scowl twist the king’s features. “We must do something for them! We did this, he is down there because of us-“

“And it is already too late!” Thorin barked at him as he took a step closer. “We can do nothing for them. I told you what I needed if we were to fail in killing Smaug: give it to me. He demanded it from you, burglar, I know that you have it!” The hobbit winced and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from letting any tears escape as they began to pool in his eyes - he had a feeling it would only incense the dwarf further.

“Uncle,” Fili called hesitantly as the Company filed onto the ruin of stone. Most had their eyes on their king but were sending furtive glances South as Smaug continued to lay waste to the Lake-town. “Uncle, we _must_ do something.”

Thorin didn’t seem to hear his nephew and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the hobbit. “You would keep it from me?” he asked and Bilbo didn’t miss his mocking tone nor did he miss the threat. “Must I _take_ it from you, _thief?_ ” The dwarf took another step forward and forced the hobbit to press the back of his knees against the stone as he stood close enough for Bilbo to see the numerous shades of blue in his irises.

“Thorin, please,” Bilbo tried, “ _please_ , we must do something for them. We have to help-“

“Fools!” a booming voice sounded, too loudly to be natural and Thorin flinched so harshly it caused Bilbo to startle. The Company as one whipped around to look at the path leading to the Mountain; they could see a light bobbing in the air with the movements of a horse as it bore its rider with haste toward them. Gandalf’s face and hat were lit by his staff and he looked far more furious than the hobbit had ever seen him. “What have you done?! You _fools!_ I told you not to enter the Mountain without me!”

Gandalf stopped his horse, slid from the saddle and in a whirl of grey, swept up the rocks to join them. Thorin snorted before the wizard could open his mouth once more and Gandalf’s eyes snapped to him.

“You would have had us wait for you? You would have rather we missed our chance on Durin’s Day than open the door without you? What we were to do? Open the door and _hope_ for your return? _You,_ who abandoned us to that accursed Forest?” he asked as the left corner of his mouth curled back in a horrid smirk. The wizard opened his own mouth to no doubt tell Thorin exactly what he should have done as he stalked closer; he froze as the light of his staff lit the dwarf’s features. Bilbo knew what he had caught sight of.

Gandalf stared at the king for much too long of a moment before he shook his head in disgust and turned to the hobbit. Bilbo met his eyes and gave a small nod - the wizard muttered none-too-flattering things in return before he harrumphed and stepped closer. It was with no subtlety that he smacked Thorin’s shin with his staff to move him aside and loomed over the hobbit himself - he didn’t need to say anything. Bilbo ground his teeth as he looked left to the Company before he swung his gaze over his shoulder to see Lake-town nearly completely ablaze, the dragon circling it like a vulture.

He looked back to the wizard. “Will it hurt?” he asked quietly. The twitch of the right corner of Gandalf’s mouth was enough for him, really.

“More than it did the other way,” he murmured in return and Bilbo nodded his acceptance. He had expected as much. Gandalf turned and together they scrambled down the rock and for the path: the hobbit was not surprised to hear cries of confusion and one roar of outrage behind them. As the hobbit skittered onto the path, the wizard stopped and turned to him with his familiar frown - Bilbo only smiled in return.

“What is going on?” Thorin demanded as the Company came to a stop behind Gandalf. “Wizard, what do you think you’re doing? You will ans-“

“Thorin Oakenshield, if you do not keep quiet, I will answer you in precisely the way I wish!” the wizard hollered as he turned and glowered down at the dwarf. Thorin glared right back up at him and Gandalf grumbled as he turned back to Bilbo. “Fool of a dwarf! Are you ready, my dear boy?”

Bilbo took one step closer to the wizard until he was sure he was out of view - hidden by his robes - of the Company. He pulled his outer tunic back and the small glow of the Arkenstone was enough for Gandalf; the wizard swept his hand down, his wide sleeve brushing over the hobbit’s chest. When it left him, the Arkenstone was gone and Bilbo would never know he had it; it was something they could concern themselves with later.

“I’m ready,” the hobbit said with a quick grin and began to back away from the wizard and the Company. “I’ll be able to come back, won’t I?”

“If you live,” Gandalf replied matter-of-factly and Bilbo laughed, shaking his head, ignoring the tears in the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t the time for fear. “Back! Back now, you fools! We must have room!” The wizard turned and gestured for the Company to back away and simply to avoid his waving staff, they did so.

“What is happening?” Ori squeaked and was promptly grabbed by Dori and smashed protectively into his brother’s chest.

“Bilbo?” Bofur called with worry but the hobbit didn’t look at them.

He reached into his back pocket and grabbed the ring to keep a hold of it in his fist - he would lose it to destroyed clothing if he didn’t. At the wizard’s questioning glance, the hobbit nodded. “Do it,” he called and the staff immediately began to glow a brilliant violet. The Company shouted in their surprise and fear as Gandalf raised it above his head and began to murmur words no one present but him understood.

Bilbo chanced a glance at the Company and met Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes. The king was staring at him, warring between his seething rage and his confusion; his question as to what on earth was going on. Well. He’d see soon enough, wouldn’t he? The hobbit sniffed and looked back to the wizard; Gandalf murmured for half a blink more before he cried out and thrust the tip of his staff toward Bilbo.

The hobbit wasn’t particularly sure what hit him as he didn’t see it - he only felt it. He shouted as he was thrown straight off his feet but he didn’t hit the ground as he suspected he might, no - he was already changing. And with changing came the shift of bones, the stretch of muscle, the tearing of skin; Bilbo forgot what was happening through the pain of it and only began to beg Yavanna to end his suffering. The sickening scrape of bones coming together and the pops of new joints sliding into place were far too much, he thought, but that was only a moment before his back split open.

When he screamed, it wasn’t a hobbit’s voice that left his throat; it was some unearthly creature, half person and half beast. He was vaguely aware of screaming beside his own but he didn’t care about it - _he wanted this to end._ Could it not? Could he not be free of pain? Death seemed a better fate than this-

And then it _stopped_. As awareness came back to him and the pain rapidly faded, Bilbo felt his chest expanding and contracting quickly as his heart raced in it; everything was _different._ He shifted his hand against the earth and felt his eyes fly open as he lifted his head - rather, his neck. And the talons on his _paw_ were digging into the ground beneath him- he was home. He was _home_. The hobbit-turned-dragon pushed himself carefully onto four shaky limbs and when his nictitating membrane cleared his eye of its blurriness and wet it, he saw the wizard and the Company in an entirely different way.

They were small to him now but bright enough that it might have been early dawn, had he not known better already. The Company had moved quite a bit further back from the wizard and had all brandished weapons - Bilbo ignored them and swept his eyes over Gandalf, receiving a jerky nod in return. The dragon huffed out a breath from his snout and turned, stumbling only briefly as he gathered his limbs beneath him. A glint of gold near his foreclaw caught his eye and he dug his hand in, pulling up a chunk of earth. He gave his head a harsh shake as he began to push forward and found it was much like putting on a tunic - it was as simple as slipping it on and letting it fall into place. His back paws fell onto an outcrop and he launched himself in the air, spreading his vast wings and giving two long, deep beats of them. Bilbo shot into the sky and felt his eyes flutter closed at the familiar sensation of cold wind biting at his face.

The dragon twisted gracefully in the air and tucked his wings into his sides as he dove South; he spread them, evening himself and began to fly for Lake-town and for Smaug.

But before he could hit the Northern shores of the Long Lake, Bilbo spread his fingers and let the ring fall with the earth he had gathered, watching until it landed just at the edge of the water - he had to come back for it and he would, but he could not risk it falling into anyone else’s hands. It was dangerous and, well, it _was_ his. He would _not_ lose it.  
  
——  
  
Fire was the first thing he smelled as he approached the town, his eyes locked onto the dragon that was making a sweeping circle around it before he dove with another stream of devastating flames leaving his throat. Bilbo smelled burning flesh second and heard the screams of people dying, trapped, or fleeing. But he could not concern himself with that - his own battle had to be fought first. It would not be his first time fighting a creature with wings but beyond quick territorial spats with his own kind, he had never gone for blood - it was all he wanted now. Bilbo pumped his wings as he gained speed on his descent toward the town that was glowing an eerie yellow against the black water surrounding it.

Smaug was making one more turn around Lake-town and when he faced North to begin another fiery attack, Bilbo watched as the dragon spotted him. His kin immediately reared back, spreading his wings out to stop his momentum before he beat them to stay in the sky - Bilbo watched with some satisfaction as the golden eyes of his enemy widened in surprise. It did not last long as the dragon became aware of what his kin planned on doing.

The larger dragon roared and pumped his wings to lift into the sky as Bilbo shot toward him, extending his arms forward with a roar of his own. Smaug attempted to pull himself above Bilbo but his smaller kin spread his wings out straight at his sides to stop his own momentum and swung his back legs up as he did so. Bilbo’s right foot clamped down on Smaug’s thigh while his left dug into the dragon’s tail - the dragon screeched in response as he was latched onto and they both fell dozens of feet from the additional weight.

Bilbo knew what he wanted because he had _seen_ it - a scale had been loosened at some point in time at Smaug’s left breast and if he could, he would use it to his advantage to pull even more from him. He swiped his right paw up and felt his talons dig into hard scales - two slipped into the gap made by the missing one while the others gripped for purchase. His kin roared in realization and began to thrash so violently Bilbo’s legs lost their grip; but as he was wrenched from the dragon, the power of the shove by Smaug’s hind legs helped the smaller dragon tear a handful of scales from his chest and his claws tore into the skin beneath.

Hot blood fell over Bilbo’s paw as Smaug pushed away from him and flew upward and East as swiftly as he could. Bilbo beat his wings as he began a circle of his own around Lake-town, his eyes locked on the larger dragon above him - he was good at these. His smaller size gave him an advantage against airborne attacks and he waited for the dragon above to tuck his wings into his sides and begin a dive toward him. Bilbo gave a solid push of his own wings as he twisted away and then, with no small amount of _dread,_ watched as Smaug compensated for it with ease; perhaps he was slightly out of practice. The dragon latched his foot onto the base of his tail and immediately attempted to claw at his ribs with his free one while he hurled his head down with terrible intent - Smaug slammed the side of his face into Bilbo’s and tried to set his jaws around his throat as the dragon’s neck was knocked to the side.

While Smaug had spikes along the ridge of his back, Bilbo had thick plates that made it useless to attempt a bite there - his throat, however, was vulnerable. He reared his neck back and heard the snap of jaws just miss it, followed by a furious growl; he lashed out with his left paw and grazed the underside of Smaug’s wing arm - it was close enough to the thick membrane for the dragon to jerk and kick him away. As Smaug freed him, he pushed upward again and dropped his foot onto Bilbo’s shoulder, using it to gain speed - his claws tore into the softer flesh there and the dragon roared in pain.

Bilbo had two limbs on him, however, and as Smaug attempted to rise into the sky, he reached out and locked both of his front paws around the underside of the larger dragon’s tail, only a short way down from his thighs. He swept his head up and bit into the backside of the dragon’s right thigh, digging his teeth between the grooves in scales and feeling blood fill his mouth. Bilbo grasped the bottom of Smaug’s heel as he attempted to kick him off and squeezed, feeling the straining muscles and tendons beneath the thick padding of his foot. He was forced to free the dragon when he, very unfairly, let them go into a sudden free fall - with a victorious shriek, Smaug twisted West as Bilbo righted himself with his own wings and pushed further into the sky again.

“Do you think you can kill _me?_ ” Smaug roared as he began to circle Lake-town once more - Bilbo mirrored him. “ _You_ who have not flown in two hundred years? Do you think you can best me, _Halfling?_ ”

When Bilbo snorted, Smaug’s fresh blood left his nostrils in a spray and he laughed as he watched golden eyes narrow in fury. “I have at least _journeyed_ in the last sixty years,” he called back and received a snarl in return. “You have grown fat and slow in your dozing! Do you think _I_ could have drawn your blood two hundred years ago?”

The dragon twisted toward him and his next attempt was with more might and swiftness than before, but Bilbo had plenty of time to skitter away from it and they, in their size, again had to separate to find another advantage. Smaug lifted into the sky and Bilbo watched with some confusion as he _kept_ rising, much higher than they had yet. He growled and shot himself up to follow - if the larger dragon hit him hard enough, he would knock him from the sky and he couldn’t afford the potential opportunity for Smaug to finish him off when he was on the ground.

They flew far enough into the air that they left the smoke from Lake-town’s burning buildings and the screams of its townspeople became distant. Bilbo watched Smaug disappear into clouds and felt his heart stutter in his chest - he could not see his shadow in the dark, as well as his eyes managed in the low light. He pushed for the clouds himself with some desperation, but his kin abruptly dove through them to his left and straight toward him, the spikes on his back skidding through the vapor still; he had simply hit the clouds and flown in an arch because he knew Bilbo would follow.

A roar tore from both of their throats as Smaug flew for him, his legs lifting and aiming for the softer underside of Bilbo’s belly. The smaller dragon flattened his wing hands and thrust the membrane forward so he too could lift his hind legs in the air; and just before Smaug’s might have torn into his flesh, they unwillingly grasped claws.

Smaug dropped the talons on his wing hand down and swiped at Bilbo’s neck, only barely missing as his kin ducked his head. The smaller dragon yanked on Smaug’s hind feet with all his might and managed to pull the heavy dragon down some feet before he lunged forward. He spread his arms and locked them onto either of the larger dragon’s shoulders and plunged his neck forward - Smaug attempted to rear back but Bilbo only dug every one of his claws in deeper as his jaws opened wide and he sank his teeth into the base of the dragon’s neck.

He felt his kin’s screech vibrate against his maw as blood once again filled his mouth - Smaug dropped his own, longer neck down but his bite was repelled by the plates on Bilbo’s neck and he roared his displeasure. The dragon used what he had left: he dropped his wing onto Bilbo’s back and dragged his talons across the top of his tail where the plates were smaller and offered less protection - they fell through the air. As much as it hurt, he was unwilling to let go and Smaug was unwilling to pull back as it would slice his throat into shreds.

As they gained speed with their fall, both dragons tucked their wings into their sides - it was a matter of who let go first. The spin they fell into made it difficult to judge how far they were from the ground but when Bilbo caught the first sign of thick, white smoke, he knew well enough. He let his hold of the other dragon go completely and spread his wings to stay his fall - Smaug had been closest to the ground and had to twist in the air to compensate for it as he spread his own wings; it was enough to keep him from crashing into the Lake below but not enough to stop him from hitting the water and stumbling through it, striking the outer edge of the town and sending fiery debris into the air.

Bilbo swept down and landed with more ease in the water, the Lake not nearly deep enough to go beyond his heel; he growled as Smaug thrashed away from the town and whirled around to face him, not a care in his mind as his tail whipped behind him and straight through numerous structures. They bared their teeth at one another, Bilbo’s stained red from the blood that was now steadily seeping from Smaug’s wounded throat.

“You would try and kill me?” Smaug snarled and there was no hiding the fact that he no longer held doubts in his mind about it; Bilbo was perfectly capable of doing just that and the dragon _knew_ it now. “For dwarf _filth?_ For the _King Under the Mountain_ who would see you dead before he would see you a friend? Do not think I didn’t smell it on you! Your _fear_ of him! You were _rank_ with it.” The dragon began to stalk forward with one harsh fall of his wing into the water after another.

His kin dug his claws into the bottom of the lake and hunkered down, preparing himself to lunge when Smaug did. Now that he heard the fear laced into the dragon’s voice, he found it effortless to dismiss his words because he knew they were meant to throw him. If Bilbo could, he would save Thorin from the gold sickness but he would worry about that when the dragon before him was _dead_. He growled as Smaug opened his jaws wide before he snapped them shut and began to gallop toward him; Bilbo met his pace.

As Smaug approached, he pulled his neck back from just below his skull - he meant to piston forward and bite. Bilbo ducked his own neck down and when they were close enough, he swung upward as the other dragon shifted to compensate for it; he did not fare well. The smaller dragon slammed the top of his head into Smaug’s lower jaw and throat - his hide was too thick for the spikes and horns on Bilbo’s head to pierce him but it was enough of a kick that Smaug’s head jerked sideways. Their chests slammed together and they both extended their wings some distance to keep their balance from it; Bilbo lashed out with his right paw and felt his claws slash deep cuts into the nape of Smaug’s neck. His kin screeched and swung his own head around, locking his jaws around Bilbo’s own thickly-plated neck; his teeth could not penetrate his hide but his jaws were wide enough to get a good grip and with stunning force, he wrenched the smaller dragon away from him.

Bilbo gripped at the bottom of the Lake for purchase and swung his body around, his tail lashing out toward Smaug’s left wing arm. The larger dragon reared up onto his hind feet to avoid it before he shoved himself forward in another attempt at sinking his jaws into Bilbo’s side; he did not let him. The smaller dragon pulled his wing sharply in and repelled the snapping jaws with his thickly scaled and padded wing hand. Smaug snarled and used his continuing force to tumble forward and drop his weight half onto Bilbo’s back and wing both; he braced the Lake again as he tried to keep himself upright but with the longer length of the other thrashing dragon, he found it more than challenging. Bilbo roared his annoyance as his front leg gave out and he fell onto his elbow, twisting his neck around to avoid Smaug’s repeated attempts as wrapping his jaws around his throat. His kin was growing clumsy in his urgency to simply be rid of him and he knew he would have to take advantage before that clumsiness turned into something far more dangerous: desperation.

The smaller dragon snorted out a huff as he felt Smaug throw the side of his elongated snout into his neck and against his plates; he could try what he had in mind, but he wasn’t entirely sure it would work. Bilbo let the weight of the larger dragon take him and turned his left elbow away from the bottom of the Lake while simultaneously letting his hind end follow - he fell onto his side in the water and Smaug let out a vicious snarl. The dragon shot his head forward and his gaping maw, filled with such sharp teeth, aimed for Bilbo’s throat as he lifted his own neck from the water; he reared his head left before he brought it swiftly right and met Smaug halfway there. Their heads slammed together with a harsh smack that rattled both of their brains as the shock moved through their skulls - Bilbo recovered first and though Smaug’s girth was lying on his wing and preventing him from taking advantage of his claws there, he still had use of two limbs the other fire-drake did not have.

He twisted around enough until he could lash out with his right paw, feeling his claws graze the underside of Smaug’s neck, where the skin was thick and sagging; his forefinger caught between one of the wrinkles and pierced it. The larger dragon roared and thrust his head forward again; Bilbo stopped him by locking his now-freed hand around his neck, digging each of his claws in deep. Smaug did not pull away for fear of causing further damage but his chest did begin to glow and Bilbo watched his eye roll in his anger as he opened his jaws again, preparing to rain fire down upon on him. The smaller dragon twisted his body around enough that he used the base of his neck and the slightly flattened plates there to hold himself up against the rocky bottom beneath the Lake; he brought his left arm up and wrapped his fingers around Smaug’s lower jaw, pulling his head sharply away from him.

Smaug let out a screech and his tongue lolled as he wildly swung his head in an attempt to rid himself of Bilbo’s hold - the glow in his chest faded but he brought his own wing around and with the three claws on his hand, he dropped them onto Bilbo’s right shoulder. When two sunk into grooves between his scales at the nape of his neck, he snarled and was forced to let Smaug go so he could knock his right elbow into the wing and dislodge it. His kin immediately loosened his hold and with a palpable amount of fury, twisted away completely and began to gallop toward the town again - Bilbo knew he would attempt to take flight and find his leverage in the sky.

He would _not_ let him. Bilbo shoved himself to his feet with some difficulty after ducking a whipping tail, the water covering his left wing causing it to grow even heavier than it already was, but with a stumble, he managed to push himself upright. He hastened to run after his kin and while he was stockier, he could outrun Smaug on land any day; Bilbo watched the spikes on the dragon’s head lightly expand when he heard his kin thundering through the Lake behind him and Smaug made an aborted attempt to spread his wings and push himself upward. He had no place to brace his hind legs in the water and instead tumbled forward with a deafening screech, beginning to run toward the burning town of Men again; his faltering let Bilbo gain on him. The smaller dragon used as much strength as he could and tucked his wings tight against his body, pressing his four feet down into the lakebed before he leapt - his own girth and the unfortunate surroundings they had fallen into only allowed him to clear the dragon’s hips. But it was enough - and what he wanted.

Bilbo dropped his weight through his hind legs onto Smaug’s thighs and brought his kin roughly down into the water, losing him his own use of his powerful limbs. The larger dragon writhed beneath him as his wings flailed, hitting the water with a smack and much like it had to Bilbo, it immediately weighed the membrane down. He threw himself further along Smaug’s body, taking as much care as he could to not impale himself on the spikes lining the ridge of his back; Bilbo’s paws hit the topmost part of the dragon’s ribcage and sent his chest into the water with an enormous splash. He lunged forward once more, dropping his hind feet into the same place on the dragon’s ribs as he thrust his arms forward: Smaug’s neck had reared back in a desperate attempt to rattle Bilbo but the smaller dragon turned his hands and caught the largest horns protruding from the back of his skull.  
  
Smaug roared and plunged his head forward, exactly as Bilbo hoped he would do; he let the dragon yank his body further along and when Smaug had to jerk his head back again lest he drop it into the Lake, Bilbo’s paws slipped down the sides of his long snout. He locked his right hand around the dragon’s upper jaw, his claws slipping into Smaug’s mouth and piercing the roof of it. His left nearly missed, but he managed to catch his thumb on a spike protruding from the dragon’s cheek and locked his fingers securely around his lower jaw; his claws sank into Smaug’s tongue.

Ignoring the pain of sharp teeth digging into his thickly padded fingers, he felt Smaug attempt to snap his jaws shut - as the large fire-drake failed due to Bilbo’s strong hold, his kin felt a wave of pleasure rush through him as golden eyes widened; Smaug knew. Bilbo, with a roar that grated against his own throat, yanked upward with his right arm and downward with his left, hearing and feeling the moment his kin’s lower jaw snapped out of place. It was the upper one, the sickening crunch of his vertebrae snapping at the base of his skull as Bilbo broke it in his tug upwards that satisfied him the most; a gurgle left Smaug’s throat, perhaps some last attempt at a growl before it, much like the dragon, _died._ Bilbo stared at the golden eye as it’s brilliance faded and bared his teeth in a victorious snarl when the body beneath him collapsed completely, his hind claws digging in to keep himself from being thrown off. When the dragon steadied, except for the last twitches of his death throes, Bilbo finally let his kin’s head go and watched as it fell into the Lake with a dull thud, misshapen, the base of it caved oddly inward. He dropped his front paws into the water on either side of the head and stared down at Smaug, his _kin,_ his chest heaving as he took in one final look of the dragon; the dragon he had crossed Middle Earth to see, to burgle from, to help slay. And he had _done_ it, he had done it all, he had _succeeded_ and fulfilled his role in the contract.

“I will see you again,” Bilbo mumbled before he lifted his head and looked North. His fight was not over - the death of Smaug meant nothing to a dwarf king lost in gold sickness with the cloak of dragon madness wrapped around him. Bilbo stumbled off of Smaug and shook himself, beginning to walk through the Lake, attempting to rid his mind of what he had just gone through. He would need stamina for this and he knew he only had so much time - he had to move in on Thorin quickly.

He began to run, heading for the rocky shores of the Long Lake, vaguely aware of the townsfolk screaming as he did so - those that had survived had made it there themselves. Bilbo ran hard and when he finally left the water, he braced himself on a high outcrop and pushed himself into the sky, spreading his wings wide just when he was high enough. He beat them three times to pull himself further up, ignoring the ache in them; it had been far too long since he last played at war and he didn’t miss it. Bilbo banked North, settling his eyes on Erebor, and began to fly, unease growing in his chest.

The Mountain loomed closer by the moment and when Bilbo could see the outpost he had left from, he tucked his wings in and dove for it; the Company was still there. The dwarves shouted as he made for them and, predictably, picked up their arms again; he ignored it as he spread his wings and landed much more harshly against the path below the post than he meant to, staggering forward. He snapped his neck toward them when he steadied himself - he didn’t see Thorin.

The dwarves gaped at him, torn between their desire to run and their want to _know;_ Gandalf had likely informed them of what he truly was. _Gandalf_. The wizard was missing as well and Bilbo felt panic welling in his chest.

“Where are they? Where is Gandalf? Where is Thorin?” he demanded, watching the dwarves huddle closer together as his voice shook the stone they were standing on. Each and every one of them were staring warily at him: they were suspicious, betrayed, and yet they knew it _was_ him.

“T-The king, he- he left to return to the Mountain before S-Smaug even fell,” Ori supplied for him and Bilbo turned his head toward Erebor. “There is something wrong with him, Bilbo-“

“And Gandalf saw it, too! Took off the moment he saw Thorin was gone, in a right mad hurry!” Oin hollered, torn between his fright and anger.

“It’s gold sickness, lads,” Balin chimed in as he sat heavily down on a rock, sounding much too weary as he stared up at Bilbo. “I’ve seen it before, in Thror. It’s in him now, Bilbo, I saw it in his eyes.”

A heavy grunt tore through Bilbo’s throat and he nodded jerkily. “It has been from the moment we stepped foot near that door,” he replied, “I could smell it on him. Get back to Erebor! I’ll deal with your blasted fool of a king _once_ _more_ in my life!” He pushed himself from them and into the air, hearing their cries from the gust of wind they were hit with from his wings; they shouted his name (he did not miss the desperation from Fili and Kili) but he had an absolutely stubborn _idiot_ to save - and he _would_. He needed to say ‘I told you so.’ Bilbo soared across the barren land between the post and the destroyed gate of Erebor; it was not long before he spotted Gandalf’s lit staff.

The wizard was riding swiftly on his horse toward the Mountain and twisted around to look at Bilbo when he heard his wings. He shouted and thrust his staff forward; Bilbo turned his gaze on the crumbled stones of the gate ahead where Gandalf had indicated - and he spotted him. Thorin was already at the gate and climbing over its remains: Bilbo knew _exactly_ where he planned on going.

He dove. As he approached, he watched the dwarf pause where he stood atop a large stone before he whirled around to look into the sky. At the sight of Bilbo bearing down upon him, a shout left the king’s throat and he leapt from the stone, scrambling forward into the Mountain. The glow from the gold was pouring from the gaping hole in the side of it and as Thorin leapt onto its hardened surface, his shadow was cast long behind him; Bilbo certainly didn’t need to look very hard to find him but it was an eerie sight nonetheless.

The dragon roared as he flew straight into Erebor and landed, his claws sliding across the slick golden floor as he twisted around toward Thorin. The king had veered left and was running for the pillars ahead and the halls beyond them - Bilbo lunged forward as Thorin burst between two, blocking the majority of the dragon’s body from following.

Bilbo swept his left arm forward and made an attempt to snatch the king; Thorin dodged it with a cry but didn’t see the dragon’s right paw as Bilbo wrapped his arm around a pillar. He smacked Thorin none-too-gently with it and sent him to the floor, Orcrist skittering loudly along it as it was torn from his hand; before the dwarf could scramble to his feet, Bilbo slid his talons underneath his body and lifted him, hoarse hollering sounding as he thrashed against the hold.

The dragon slid back from the pillars and turned toward the exit out of the Mountain again, beginning to run for it, using his right wing hand to compensate for the loss of his right paw. When Bilbo hit the broken stones, he launched himself into the sky, holding onto a struggling dwarf king as he did so, the wind rushing along his head drowning out Khuzdul curses. He soared nearly to the peak of Erebor before he banked West and began to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Smaug vs Bilbo](http://i.imgur.com/shFPxcA.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> I drew a thing for the thing. I've been drawing dragons for quite a few years now (though I rarely draw anymore) so I thought why not. :) I enjoyed this one when I wrote it. I had fun with most of it though writing action is beyond difficult for me. And I wrote two freaking versions of the death of Smaug. Bard saving the day was the other but I went with this after a crisis that [The Amazing Tea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier) helped me with. But. Now I'm just going through a 'is this actually good enough' crisis even tho I wrote it almost three weeks ago. cough I hope you all enjoy it at least! Next chapter we have a Very Angry Dwarf and lots of chatter.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	7. Chapter 7

The distance between Erebor and the Anduin River was almost exactly 200 miles. Bilbo flew low enough to not deprive Thorin of air he could breathe but high enough that he could make the distance in less than an hour and a half with little exertion on his part - which was good as he was _entirely_ exhausted. His muscles ached and he felt drained of most emotion; Thorin, _shockingly,_ did not stay calm for the first fifteen minutes of their flight. The dragon had to give him some credit when, during his squirming, he had managed to produce a dagger from who-knew-where and sunk it into the sensitive skin between his knuckles. Unfortunately for the dwarf, it only felt like a bite from an ant and when Bilbo had loosened his grip threateningly, it hadn’t happened again; after some very colorful phrases, the king had finally shut his mouth.

Even in their flight Bilbo couldn’t be rid of the smell permeating off of the dwarf and he wondered if he was simply sensitive to it after so long - surely it had not been so strong when he was a dragon at _all_ times? He could hardly remember such a thing but it was certainly what he had to put up with _now;_ he was not looking forward to when they landed, though he knew exactly where he wished to.

The Fork that was made from the Northern and Western branches of the Anduin was roughly 50 miles North of the Carrock, where Thorin had been blessedly sane as he was carried by an eagle and had his blasted life saved. Part of Bilbo wondered if he should have knocked the king out for the journey as he was likely to be even less receptive to a good scolding once he was let free - it hardly mattered anymore when the Fork came into view and the dragon slowly descended toward it. The sun was beginning to rise but it was still in that twilight hour that kept everything at an eerie, glowing shade of blue - Bilbo was grateful he had thick hide, as well as keen eyesight, because it would have been a bit too chilly for his liking. Fortunately for the dwarf, he was made of stronger stuff.

Thorin began to fuss again as the dragon swooped down low, passing over the Northern branch of the River and circling it before he spread his wings wide and landed on the Western bank with only minor stumbling. The king began to shout and Bilbo ignored him as he scanned their surroundings, still holding the dwarf in his hand; he had to make sure they were bloody _safe._  The Great Eagles lived close enough by that he wouldn’t have been surprised if they eventually saw one taking stock of the dragon, a creature they had not likely seen in an Age. Bilbo let out a light snort from his snout before he looked down at Thorin and lowered his neck as he outstretched his arm, carefully depositing the dwarf on the ground.

He watched warily as Thorin, who had been held horizontally the entire trip, struggled in getting his feet under himself; he tripped and stumbled twice before he finally managed it and whirled around to look up at Bilbo. The king’s eyes were wide but still perfectly furious and Bilbo sighed as he staggered two paces back, turned East, and began to run. He expected he would despite the uselessness of it - the River was the same distance to Mirkwood as it was to the Misty Mountains and the only landscapes around them were valleys and the light forest surroundings South, miles from them.

Bilbo thrust his right wing forward and dropped the arm in front of Thorin to block him from going any further. The king skidded to a stop with a hoarse shout and turned to look at the dragon again, a fierce scowl twisting his features as he stared up at him; he then began a slew of Khuzdul that Bilbo suspected might have had even Balin blushing and he groaned.

“Thorin, please,” he implored quietly, taking a step closer and watching as the dwarf took one back. He huffed. “Thorin. You know you can’t get away from me and even if you could, you’d have to journey through Mirkwood again to get back to Erebor. Let’s be civil, shall we, as we need to have a conversation. More than one, actually.”

The king gaped at him before he let out a bark of laughter. “Civil?” he spat. “ _Civil?_ You expect me to be civil with you? You- _you are a_ _traitor!_ You are a _liar!_ The wizard said you were a worm before a Halfling and yet you did not ever speak of it. You played at being a Shire _rat._ Why? Did you expect to take the Mountain from Smaug, _slug?_ Would you have killed us all after you killed that dragon? You have already stolen the Arkenstone from me! You have betrayed me!” He stumbled back as Bilbo growled and lowered his head to peer down at the ridiculous fool lost in his madness.

“Do you not _hear_ yourself?” Bilbo demanded angrily, dropping down onto his forearms with enough force to make the ground tremble. “Do you think that Gandalf came all the way to the Shire without actually trusting me? Or perhaps you think he was in on my _scheming_ to take Erebor once we arrived? I am here because I trusted _you_ and believed in _you,_ you blasted _dwarf,_ and the only thing I wish for is you on your throne! But I won’t see you there while you’re like this, Thorin, while you’re sunk as deeply as your grandfather was- do not look at me like that!” He snarled as Thorin shot him an ugly, lopsided grin, as if he could not _possibly_ know what he was speaking of.

The dragon lowered his head until he could nearly touch the king with his nose - Thorin stared defiantly back at him, but Bilbo could smell his fear, as well as Smaug smelled it on _him._ “Look at what I am! I am dragon-kind, I _know_ what I smell on you, don’t be even more of a fool than you’ve already proven yourself to be. Smaug was drawn to Erebor because we experience the Pull of gold and we _want_ it - do not think for a moment we don’t smell that want on everyone else. It’s rather distinct and you are _bathed_ in it. That treasure hoard is not only a cause for gold sickness, which Thror fell to, but it’s been sitting under Smaug for so very long that it holds dragon madness - it is there to waylay any and all that wish to wander too close. You have fallen to both, Thorin, and until you can remember that the dwarf I have known for so very long would have never held me on the wrong end of a sword, _we_ _will stay here.”_

“You _stole_ the Arkenstone!” Thorin bellowed as he balled his hands into fists at his sides. “I explained it to you, _thief,_ I told you it was the Heart of the Mountain and the _King’s_ Jewel! That worm demanded it from you, do not lie to me! I know you carried it and yet when I asked for it, you would not give it to me! And I saw in your eyes that you did not plan on doing so unless I tore it from you. I care not for what you have to say, you are a serpent from darker days, you were created by evil to _do_ evil and I know of the spell you can cast on me. You will try and make me believe I am not myself-”

“I would put the blasted spell on you if I thought it would do any good,” Bilbo snapped in interruption as he reared his head back, shaking it in his irritation. “But I will not because I won’t make you do or think anything that is only by my doing; you’re right, that is something meant for evil and I am hardly that. Not anymore. I have been a hobbit for nearly two hundred years and _happy_ for it. I didn’t want to come along on this Quest, you know that I did not-”

“A well crafted and acted lie,” Thorin sneered, putting Bilbo on the end of a look fairly similar to the one he gave him when they first met. It was certainly more sinister now, however, and it twisted the dragon’s stomach into knots. “It did not take much to convince you to join us: only a private conversation with a _wizard_. You have said yourself serpents are pulled to gold and you were, that is why you are here; falsehoods for gains. If you will not kill me, I will kill _you_ when I am able; the world has no more need for fell beasts.”

Bilbo watched the king as he spoke, his heart thumping heavily in his chest; he wouldn’t be surprised if Thorin actually _could_ hear it. He knew that the dwarf was lost - in fact, he spoke similar words to Smaug and his greediness mirrored the dragon well enough. Bilbo knew that, _yes,_ but it still pained him to hear it and to watch it. Only two days had passed since he sat with the king and drew the Baggins’ line for him, telling him the best of the gossip he knew for each individual; and while Thorin had been confused, he was still able to make him laugh and pull that grin he was growing traitorously fond of from him. Looking at him now, with the glassy sheen over his eyes clouding his normally brilliant blue, Bilbo felt an icy pike in his heart and the pain that blossomed through his chest for it. He would certainly not give up, he knew the haze would drift eventually - but could he have done more to _prevent_ it? Could he have stopped something he knew was likely to happen? He _was_ a bloody dragon.

He sighed, giving a light shake of his head before he turned it East and toward the rising sun. It would be a lovely sight if he weren’t so terribly saddened - knowing Thorin, the dwarf would not likely fare well when he came out of this. Bilbo could only be glad he was able to pull him from Erebor before he could have harmed the Mountain or anyone else.

“Yes, well,” the dragon mumbled, lowering his eyes back to the king. “We can agree on that last point. Smaug was a fell thing and he’s gone now, at the very least; I suspect the Company will begin to sort through the rubble in Erebor while we’re out here. Perhaps we can join them soon but, ah, that will be up to you. Battling one's own mind is a difficult thing but you’ve had _so_ much practice over the last year, I think you’ll be able to manage it.” He felt his lips pull back in a dry smile as Thorin shook his head and turned away from him, beginning to stalk forward, following alongside his wing arm.

“You have always held a high opinion of yourself and now I know why,” Thorin commented mockingly but before he could continue, an indignant noise left Bilbo’s throat before he could think better of it.

“ _Me?_ ” he asked incredulously. “ _I_ have held a high opinion of myself? Coming from _you-"_

Thorin turned so suddenly Bilbo snapped his mouth shut. “I did war with myself _often._ I warred with myself until the moment I came across you in the treasury,” he began thoughtfully, which already set the dragon’s teeth on edge. The king’s eyes drifted along his substantial girth before he lifted them again. “I fought the interest that grew for you. I did not wish to think you anything more than a weak creature that should not have been in my Company but you impressed me time and time again. I fought the fondness I began to have for you after you stepped in front of Azog: I wished only to accept you as our burglar and nothing more. And I fought my heart when it began to call for you. I thought I had lost that battle as well when we left Lake-town but I was wrong and I am glad for it. To think I would have welcomed _you_ into it,” he murmured in a low tone, “a serpent. What a fool I was to wish for it.” He stared at Bilbo from under his heavy brow with such scorn that the dragon quite forgot how large he was. Thorin might as well have been towering over him.

Bilbo’s stomach took a quick trip down into the ground as he stared right back at the dwarf. His heart stuttered and when he swallowed, it was past a dry throat and only served to make him feel sick. _Right_. Thorin was _ill_ and he would need to keep telling himself that - but it hurt so _suddenly_ and so profoundly that he found it impossible to simply brush aside. He knew why, beyond the obvious: Bilbo had fought a battle of his own - his stomach wouldn’t be filled with butterflies every time the king smiled at him if he felt nothing for him. For _Bilbo,_ however, he had _many_ long years of practice pushing those sorts of feelings away in the Shire; he didn’t allow himself to go beyond a fleeting fancy - it could only lead to pain. Thorin _meant_ for his words to hurt, truth or no truth to them. The dragon clamped his eyes shut tight and lifted his nose toward the sky, needing to look away from the king, needing to draw in fresh air if he could. He was glad he was not capable of tears because the torment he felt right then would send his hobbit-self into them and that was _not_ something he would give to Thorin; he would take pleasure in it.

After a deep inhale, Bilbo let out his breath and looked back to Thorin. He already _was_ taking pleasure in it. “I am sorry you feel that way,” he managed shakily before he huffed to clear his throat. “But seeing as how you do, we really don’t need to discuss it anymore, do we? I think we have more important things to focus on for the time being; remember, I grew quite used to you being disappointed by my _existence._ I can manage it again.” He pushed himself onto his feet and moved down to the River to take a moment and rid himself of _Thorin Oakenshield’s_ _face._ He wasn’t concerned about the dwarf fleeing as it would be impossible for him to get far but he hoped the blasted king didn’t try - he needed _rest._

Bilbo ducked his head as soon as he could and turned his nose upriver, dipping his face into the water. He shook it quickly back and forth, watching the River turn red as Smaug’s dried blood was washed away; if he could get rid of one smell, perhaps it would delay his own descent into madness. The king would be the death of him, he was certain of it.

The dragon washed away what he could from his face and arms; the worst of his injuries were on his shoulders but blood coagulated quickly and rarely festered due to the rapid healing of dragon-kind. When he got back to Gandalf and became a hobbit again - he hoped - he would be treated to some _handsome_ new scars, however. Bilbo grumbled to himself as he drank from the River, glad at least for the cold water rushing through his throat; it aided in clearing his mind of some of the fog that had settled over it from the king’s words. _He was ill._

When he finally turned away from the River and sought out Thorin again, he eyed the dwarf that had moved some distance East and found himself a wide, flat boulder to sit on. The king looked hunched in on himself and Bilbo wished he could pretend all was well and that Thorin was simply in one of his broods. But it could not be, and with achy, throbbing limbs, the dragon planted himself on the ground halfway between the water and the dwarf. He dropped his head onto his forearm and, which he thought a reasonable and understandable thing to do, settled into a brood of his own. There would be no speaking calmly with the dwarf until they had a break from one another.

——

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open as he woke from his dozing with the heart-stopping sensation of a sudden fall - something he was plagued with more often than was necessary, he was sure. As he shifted his eyes to Thorin, still sitting on his boulder, he didn’t know why he was surprised it would still happen as a dragon. He mumbled to himself, lifting his head and glancing toward the sky - two hours! And he had managed to rest mostly in peace. Bilbo turned his head back toward Thorin and noted that he hadn’t moved an inch himself; he was still steadfastly staring East. The dragon sighed as he watched him before he lifted himself up onto shaky limbs and opened his jaws wide in a yawn, giving his head a harsh shake.

Thorin turned to look at him from over his shoulder, a suspicious and rather _repulsed_ glare on his face; Bilbo ignored it and walked toward him, rolling his eyes when the dwarf hopped to his feet and faced him. His hand went for a sword that wasn’t there and the dragon hummed pointedly as he came to a stop behind the boulder.

“You can sit back down,” Bilbo said conversationally, “I’m not going to be putting you on a spit of my own. If I planned on hurting you, I would have already done it, you ridiculous creature.” He pointed his nose at the boulder before he himself slid down, laying with his legs tucked under him and his left wrist crossed over his right.

The king continued to stare at him and it was only when Bilbo let out a long-suffering sigh that he finally turned and threw himself back on the boulder, dropping his forearms on his knees. He began his moody stare East again and the dragon used the opportunity to roll his eyes skyward - Eru give him patience. The dwarf was stuck in his own mind and Bilbo wished to draw him out if he could now that he was ready; chatter _from_ a dragon could do such a thing. It _may_ have been bordering on the dragon-spell, but he wouldn’t be informing Thorin of that anytime soon.

“Did you know that Smaug and I were related? Well, of course we were, we all came from the first fire-drake, but I mean that we shared a mother. Err, no, a sire? I- a mother? _Eru,_ I can’t actually remember which it was. Dragons don’t observe siblings or, er, families of _any_ kind once we leave the nest so it’s not important to us. But yes, we could actually call him my half- _brother,_ which is incredibly strange to me now. He was quite a bit older than me-”

“I care nothing for who you were or who you are now and I do not wish to hear of your past,” Thorin spat in interruption, as Bilbo knew he would likely do. “I do not wish to speak of slugs; and not _to_ one.” He didn’t look at the dragon as he spoke but Bilbo knew perfectly well what expression he was wearing.

“Well! That is too bad for you, as I’m going to keep speaking, and if you do not kindly keep your mouth shut, I will hold you in my hand again as I do,” the dragon commented lightly, watching Thorin’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists as his body went stiff. “I’d rather not do it and I have a feeling you’d rather I not do it as well. So, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, Smaug was quite a bit older than me. We didn’t meet until I was grown and it was on a battlefield that we did, in a War that lasted many years; we spoke now and then but I found him horribly arrogant and, well, I have always preferred my own company. That’s the reason why I fainted back in my hobbit-hole when you said his name, I hadn’t seen him in two hundred years and to know you were _going_ to him, well- well, whether you’d like to believe it or not, I was terrified for you. That is also why I seemed certain of your demise and why I didn’t want to come along on your Quest; I’m not sure what sent me out of my door but I can say that your song moved me. Looking at it now, I’m a little bothered, but I signed a contract and I’d do it all over again, if I had to.

You can’t smell it, but I’m a dragon at heart and I knew Smaug would smell me for who I was. And he certainly did: it was a terrible conversation to have, looking so far _up_ at him when we met again, and he made it _quite_ clear he planned on killing me from the beginning. Through a very lucky set of circumstances, he didn’t manage it. I’m not sure I have ever been so frightened in all my life, though, I can tell you that.” He drummed his claws against the ground and let out a huff.

“I never imagined I would have to take this form again when I left my door and perhaps if I had known, I wouldn’t have come along. But we set him on Lake-town, Thorin, and its people, _innocent_ people, died because of us. I didn’t have any problem letting Gandalf cast his spell if it meant I could at least help save some. And between you and me, Smaug’s look of shock was an added benefit. He is dead now and that’s all that matters - though I hope we can find a way to help the townsfolk for what we did to them-”

“They will be taking gold from the Mountain at this moment because of you,” Thorin snapped angrily, still determinedly not looking at him. “The Master of Lake-town only cared for my gold and I do not trust that the Company will keep them out of Erebor. And that _elf,_ I know he will descend upon it and I will be robbed as I sit here with _you."_

Bilbo let out a soft hiss between his teeth. “I won’t tell the Company you said that but you don’t give them enough credit. I think they will be trying to the best of their abilities to keep everyone out of that Mountain; you lot are both proud and greedy and they follow you, you _know_ that. You’re their king and they know how you’d feel about it. Hopefully we will see the state of Erebor for ourselves soon enough, though,” the dragon replied, eyeing the king with distaste. “I do believe, however, that I asked you to keep quiet. I’m going to tell you how I received my scars though you may already have a good idea by now.” He ignored the nasty, dismissive snort Thorin gave as it reminded him very much of a _child._

“I fought in the Wars of the North as I’m sure you’ve deduced on your own. Almost all of us did. It gave me a purpose at the time and well, when a darker power ruled those lands, we fought alongside it for what it offered us as reward. I don’t like to think of those days anymore but it was in one of those Wars that I received the scar on my belly. Men on the field below had powerful windlances and one of them had _very_ precise aim; he hit me when I was rather high up and it did the trick. Thought I was done and over with right there, so I took myself to a River not far from the battle, just at the base of the Grey Mountains that border the Withered Heath, and settled down on the bank, prepared to bleed to death. But who should come along then? None other than Gandalf the Grey, of course.

I was more than irritated, not being a fan of wizards, and I told him where he could stick his staff when he began to bother me. I wished to die alone and in peace, thank you, not with a cranky wizard grumbling at me. But he didn’t leave me be, no, and presented me with the offer of an adventure, if you can believe it. A journey across Middle Earth with a second chance at life; I thought it was hogwash, of course, but I also didn’t smell any lie on him. He told me that if I were to accept, I’d have to be, er, a little smaller so he could tend to my wounds. He _did_ inform me I could still die from them as well and I should deserve it if I did, terribly rude, but I was intrigued. He described to me these odd creatures of the West with furred feet, kind hearts, and a fondness for food; it sounded so foreign at the time but, well, I clearly agreed. And on that riverbank I found myself a hobbit for the very first time and believe you me, it wasn’t pleasant to see the world grow so big. If you think Gandalf is disagreeable at times, you would have hated me - I was unsavory all the way until Rivendell.”

Bilbo took in a deep breath, glancing sidelong at the dwarf - Thorin was staring down at his hands but the dragon knew blasted well he had his full attention. He sniffed, shifting his legs and arms before he settled again; he still had quite a lot to say.

“My wounds didn’t heal like they would have had I remained a dragon - without a mortal injury - and travel didn’t help. I have an ugly scar on the back of my left thigh that festered when it was an open wound and really, at that point, I _needed_ elvish medicine to survive. I think Lord Elrond nearly had a heart attack when he first took a look at me and he and Gandalf had _quite_ the row before he agreed to treat me. I have him to thank for being alive today, though it was a rocky road, what with the elves not trusting me for a moment; I can hardly blame them for that. But I stayed in Rivendell for a good long while, adjusting to being a hobbit and living among Big Folk rather than fighting them. I eventually made a few friends, including Lord Elrond, which is how I am _actually_ familiar with elves. If I had told you the truth, Thorin, you would have tried to throw me from that balcony!” He growled as the dwarf turned to send a dark look his way - as if he would have outed himself, no indeed!

He grumbled, shaking his head and sniffing when Thorin turned away again. “Goodness, of course I had to lie to you a few times, but it wasn’t to your detriment. Not that I can recall? I wanted to help and I didn’t think my past life would come into play until we got to Erebor; I was right in that, thank you. Anyway, where was I? Ah! Lord Elrond taught me the basics of Sindarin and gave me quite a lot of studies to take with when Gandalf finally deemed it time to travel to the Shire. I honestly wished to stay in Rivendell, but Gandalf thought it would be more dangerous for me, which I supposed was a fair point. So! Off to the Shire we went.”

He was becoming rather parched, but he wasn’t going to risk trying to herd Thorin to the River with him - the smell wasn’t as pungent. Bilbo gave a hard swallow and curled his tail closer to his body, taking in a steady few breaths before he nodded, attempting to give himself some courage. He didn’t want to lose the dwarf a moment after snaring him in.

“Well. I’m sure you can imagine what happened when we finally arrived there; a hobbit the Shire had never seen or heard of before - though I did not yet have a name, we’ll get to that - caused quite a ruckus. I was immediately distrusted as no other hobbit clans existed beyond the Shire but Gandalf spoke with the Thain at the time and though it took days, I was accepted, but still despised. At that point, I thought about fleeing back to Rivendell, but the wizard is stubborn and I wasn’t allowed to. I, of course, knew absolutely nothing about hobbits and being stared at as if I were still a dragon was disconcerting, to say the least. I could hardly get anyone to not _flee_ from me, let alone _speak_ to me. I was beginning to feel thoroughly miserable when good Grandmother Marybelle Baggins came along, smacked me with her walking cane and told me if I didn’t behave under her roof, I’d be booted right back out. She took me in and, ah, well- well, she named me Bilbo. And I have been Bilbo Baggins from there on out. She taught me to a startlingly in-depth degree about hobbits - hobbits have been around since the First Age, you know - and turned me into a proper one, I’d have to say.

The Shire knew what I was and though it took years, I was declared a true Baggins’ when I was with Marybelle and expected to behave like one! But she grew older and when she died, I was passed down through a few Baggins’ generations as one of them. I’d say after just twenty or so years, I had mostly left behind my time as a dragon as I became preoccupied with my garden, especially my tomatoes, and maintaining a good reputation by having my neighbors over for tea.” His chest rumbled as he chuckled and lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I was a hobbit.”

Bilbo let out a long sigh as he turned his head toward the sky and gave a considering hum. When he looked back down at the dwarf, Thorin had turned to look at him finally, and the dragon felt a sudden fire of hope light in his chest; his eyes were far more clear than just a short time before. If he didn’t know that smiling was not the best look on him, he would have done so.

“It was hard, you know, making friends and losing them - I don’t age like hobbits, I age like dragon-kind. I was there when hobbits were born and I was there when the same hobbits died and after a time, I almost wished I hadn’t made any friends at all. But I was rather cherished by the newer generations of hobbits and I was entirely fond of them all myself; there were a particular two I was _most_ fond of, though. Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins! I find there to be a special sort of happiness to be had around newborns and I visited them both when they were born: Bungo was first and a year later, Bella. She took to me straight away and by the time she was allowed to roam the Shire with other fauntlings, I had a tail I simply _couldn’t_ be rid of. That child was a pest and loved to give me a fright whenever she could! I fell in love with her, of course, how could I not? I wasn’t the only one she took a liking to, though.

Bungo, the poor lad, he found himself on the receiving end of a _Took._ He was _completely_ terrified of her and while it was most amusing for me, my home became _the_ home to go to for children. Bella would drag him and other fauntlings along and that was how I spent many of my days, actually. Telling stories and teaching young hobbit lads and lasses lessons they couldn’t learn from any book in the Shire. Do you know, when Bella heard rumor that I had been a _dragon_ once upon a time, she hardly believed it and expected me to prove myself through play. That was how I became a monstrous, _ugly_ dragon again, one that kept the prince locked up in my tower - naturally, Bungo was the prince in distress while Bella was the knight come to slay me and save him.”

Bilbo laughed as he remembered those days in vivid detail, even if they brought the familiar, bitter sting of loss with them. “He was far too scared of her to put up any fuss. I can’t relate to that myself; I’m not often intimidated, not even by _stubborn,”_ he chuckled, feeling a swift kick to his belly as Thorin lowered his gaze again and he saw a distinct softening in the lines of his face. “It went on like that for years. Not the dragon slaying, no, but Bella as my shadow and Bungo her chosen best friend. He came around when they grew older and they really were two peas in a pod. Ahh, but let me tell you of the day Bungo realized something incredibly important: the boy, perhaps 25 at the time, came flying into my home in such distress I thought someone had died. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and declared that he was madly in love with Bella and didn’t know what to do about it! I don’t think he appreciated my collapsing and dramatic wailing of how such a terribly obvious thing for many years had happened to him - the entire Shire wondered when _he_ would realize it. If you had asked Bella, she would have said of course she loved him but she was _much_ too young to worry about such nonsense and she’d address it another day.”

The dragon lifted his arm, planted his elbow into the ground and dropped his jaw into his hand. “He proposed to her on his 30th birthday and she accepted readily but told him he would have to wait until she was 33 - hobbits’ coming of age - before they could begin to plan anything. She had many more things she wished to do before she settled and, well, as if he could read minds, an individual showed up in the Shire and wooed Bella into adventure. I am _sure_ you know of whom I speak.” He glanced sidelong at the king as he snorted and looked at him with a wry smile.

“Gandalf’s choice of companion in adventure is still cause for me to trust his judgment,” Thorin replied and arched an eyebrow at Bilbo. “You were not the first to leave the Shire, then.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Indeed not! And before Bella, it was her father! I cannot believe that wizard, I really cannot. Well, I had a few choice words for him when he showed up and offered Bella the chance to come along with him. I told them both no and thank you, the Wild was not meant for hobbits and I would not see her in harm’s way. Gandalf and I had a good many arguments on it, Bungo included in most of them, but he could not be swayed. I even threatened burning him to a crisp if he put her in danger, though I could do no such thing anymore. I could _dream._ One day, I found myself dismayed when I opened my door to fetch my mail and noticed I had two letters taped to it. I knew who they were from and what they meant right away, of course: Gandalf had snuck her out of the Shire! Bella’s letter was quite long, I still have it somewhere back home, and she explained _all_ of the reasons why she _had_ to go on an adventure. She didn’t mention where they were going because she knew I’d hunt her down and drag her back - the girl wasn’t even of age!” He huffed as he looked down at Thorin and squinted at his amused smile.

“And Gandalf’s letter?” the king asked with far too much mirth at his expense coloring his voice. “What words did he leave you with?”

The dragon growled and dropped his hand back to the ground, as irritated as he had been then. “He only said to keep my fire stoked, the blasted menace,” he grumbled, shooting Thorin a flat stare as he chuckled. “It was an entire year before I was able to lecture him on his reckless behavior! Goodness, I was very angry. They came traipsing back into the Shire one day, thick as thieves, and sent the entire place into chaos. Bella’s hair was loose and wild and she wore trousers and an elvish traveling cloak. _Extremely_ scandalous _._ Poor Bungo fainted when he saw her, right in the middle of Bagshot Row; I had to slap him twice to get him to come around. Yes, hah _hah,_ funny for you.”

Thorin tilted his head back as he laughed and Bilbo wished he could slap _him_ when he sent him a grin. “Did he get that from you, Master Baggins? You have a talent for fainting yourself,” he unfairly pointed out, drawing an eye-roll from the dragon.

“Excuse me, it was the other way around,” Bilbo sniffed, lifting one claw to point at the dwarf. “Bungo was rather faint-hearted and I think I inherited his fainting prowess somehow, which was most unlike me! I was entirely fond of him, yes, but I’ll never forgive him for that. Those two threatened to kill me around every turn for the next few years! My heart can truly only take so much - I’m surprised I haven’t died of a heart attack on this Quest alone, actually. Thank Eru, though, they were _finally_ out of my hair once they married. Bag End was theirs, you know. Bungo built it for her, I think they meant to fill it with fauntlings, though they never did.”

The king turned on his boulder until he was facing Bilbo head on and his eyes held sorrow borne from familiarity. “They no longer live. Was this some time ago?” he asked as he raised his eyebrows, looking entirely like the Thorin Oakenshield that sat at his side in Lake-town and watched the sunrise with him.

Bilbo heaved a sigh and shook his head. “No, not for me. It was many years ago that they died but they should both still be living in Bag End today,” he answered quietly. “I wish that they were. Bungo was only 53 when he developed a cough and fever that seemed impossible to be rid of. The fever eventually broke but the cough stayed and one day, it brought blood with it. He quickly became weak enough to need to be bedridden and it took us all by surprise. Our healers weren’t certain what ailed him but whenever they listened to his lungs, they came away looking more defeated each time. We thought once that he was on the mend: he ate more and coughed less. Even had enough energy to take a walk through Bag End and complain about not being able to smoke. It lasted for a week before his illness came back and dashed away all hope; he was gone less than a month later.

Bella became something of a shell after that - she was never truly herself again. It broke my heart, truly, it did, to see her in such a state but watching her waste away, ah… well, that is not something I would wish on anyone. I don’t think she could bear to be parted from him, they’d been together so long; just shy of two years later, she followed him.”

Bilbo was grateful once again that he was not able to cry. He rarely spoke of Bella and Bungo as he had found it far too painful even still; there was a hole in his heart that they had occupied and he missed them every day. The dragon shook himself and glanced back down at Thorin.

“That was seventeen years ago but it feels like yesterday some days. I had already lost friends but they were truly my family,” he sighed dolefully, holding the king’s gaze. “Bella’s father and the Thain, which he still is to this day, sat me down with their wills. The pests left _me_ everything they had, which included Bag End and it is why I live there. I almost gave it up in the first few months but I know what they would’ve said if I did and, well, it’s home now. I do understand home, Thorin, as much as I might not have long ago. I have already told you I wish to see you in your own and I meant every word.”

Thorin’s stare was as intense as any dragon-fire and lasted long enough that Bilbo had to refrain from squirming like he always did. When he finally lowered his eyes to his hands, the dragon nearly slumped in relief: it was still unnerving. The king remained silent for a few moments more and when he spoke, he didn’t look at Bilbo.

“You know loss and I am sorry for it. You know home. I cannot trust you beyond that; you are of the same ilk that killed my people and stole my home from me. I do not understand why you are here nor do I understand why you came along to begin with. How am I to believe you, a serpent, have no motivation beyond wishing to see dwarves in Erebor? It is too convenient. You have already stolen the Arkenstone from me,” Thorin explained with some heat and looked back to Bilbo from under his brow. He _seemed_ to be putting a conscious effort into controlling his temper but the bite of sourness was returning. “You would have me trust one related to Smaug? One that was created by evil? Your kind were not born to this world, you were moulded by a Dark Lord of the past.”

“That is true enough for my ancestors but I was hatched in an egg and much like yourself, I had to grow and learn. I also had the freedom of _choice._ Thorin, I did not mean to steal the Arkenstone from you: in fact, I had it for only a moment before we came across each other in the treasury. And what I saw in your eyes gave me reason to believe you wouldn’t fare well with it, especially not with a dragon on our heels,” Bilbo stated firmly, narrowing his eyes as Thorin began to grow prickly again. “I cannot force you to believe anything but much like I trust you to know the ways of dwarves, I would ask you to trust that I know the ways of _dragons._ Smaug would have wrung you dry if you held that stone in hand. His curse is embedded in it and I would not trust _any_ dwarf with it at present.”

Thorin stood from the boulder and put him on the end of an unyielding stare. “I am not _any_ dwarf, I am the King of Erebor and that stone belongs to me. I asked you for it when Smaug took to Lake-town and you would not give it to me even then. You killed him not long after you could have,” he returned as he turned his chin up. “He would not have had any further influence if he truly had any at all.”

Bilbo sent his eyes skyward before he clamped them shut. He wished to yell at the dwarf as he _always_ did but it would only do further harm. “I know that you are aware of the dragon-spell and if you are willing to accept that, you should be willing to accept dragon madness, which you _also_ know of. There is something deeper to it than a sickness that comes from an obsession for gold like your grandfather had. I told you why there is a curse on our treasure hoards: it is there to drive one _mad_ if they approach and are not otherwise killed by teeth or fire. It did not simply _go away_ when Smaug died and it will remain for a very long time. I suspect Gandalf wished to address it, along with Smaug, if he had entered Erebor with us and I will ask him if there is anything to be done for it when we return.”

“And when will that be?” Thorin demanded, a contemptuous edge to his voice. “When you deem I no longer smell of _dragon_ _madness?_ How can I trust that you will ever come to such a decision when I do not feel an illness myself?”

Bilbo blinked at him before he reared his head back. “Yes you do,” he replied quite before he meant to. _A lie._ He had _lied_ to him and the strange sensation that came with it had taken the dragon by surprise - it was a sudden thing, like the first moment a breeze danced across your skin. The king backed a few paces away from him with some wariness given his quick movement. “You do feel it, Thorin, you just don’t want to accept it. When you do and when you pull yourself from it, we will go back to Erebor. The when is entirely up to you.”

The dragon slid to his feet as stared at Thorin in wonder. He had forgotten what that felt like, to know a lie the moment it left someone’s lips, but it kindled hope even more for him. The dwarf felt it, whatever _it_ looked like to him, and _knowing_ that something was different in him had Bilbo confident they were headed down the right path. He watched the king for half a beat more before he turned and wandered back down to the River; in part because he was dreadfully thirsty, and because he wished for Thorin to stew. Whether it would do any good yet remained to be seen.

——

It was a longer break, much more than two hours, before their silence was broken again. Bilbo had taken to lying on his stomach with his wings outstretched to relax his sore muscles and to allow the midday sun to warm his hide. He was still along the riverbank and after a rather embarrassing attempt at trying to catch trout that were swimming swiftly South, he had decided to simply wait for the dwarf to come to him. As he heard movement from behind, Bilbo turned his head and looked toward Thorin, who had apparently decided to leave his boulder; the dragon had never seen one sit so still in all his life!

The king was walking toward him, his footfalls hesitant as he eyed the outstretched dragon before him; Bilbo pulled his right wing in close and watched Thorin approach, though he still kept some distance from him. The dwarf moved to the riverbank and stared down at the water flowing below for a good long while - he didn’t seem particularly ready to speak yet, and Bilbo turned his attention to the River himself, his eyes following the trout that had outsmarted him so.

“What is your name?” came the quiet question and Bilbo blinked. He glanced down at the dwarf in confusion as Thorin finally looked at him, a fierce frown coloring his features. “You said you were named as a hobbit in the Shire. What is your true name?”

Bilbo started. “Oh. Er, my true name is Bilbo,” he answered, huffing as Thorin narrowed his eyes at him. “What? It is. I’m a hobbit, this dragon nonsense won’t last, and I’ll continue the rest of my days _as a hobbit._ If you must know, most simply called me, um, Night Rider. Translated from Black Speech, I mean, and I think it’s a bit obvious why they called me that.” He eyed the dwarf as he continued to all but scowl at him.

“Then that is not your true name,” Thorin argued, raising his eyebrows and gesturing at him with some frustration. If Bilbo hadn’t known that chuckling at him would infuriate him, he might have done it. “What is the name you were given when you were… _hatched?”_ He grunted out the word as if it were something unsavory and looked rather like he sucked on a lemon as he did so.

The dragon sighed. “Do you know, I can’t remember,” he mused, looking toward the sky and lifting his shoulder in a shrug. As he watched the clear skies above, not a cloud in sight, he _felt_ Thorin glaring at him, which was something he felt often enough, dragon or hobbit. Bilbo side-eyed him - the king knew he was not telling the truth and was apparently none-too-pleased with it. “Thorin, to be quite honest, that is private and something I am going to keep to myself. Unless you’d be willing to share your own true name?”

As Thorin visibly paled, Bilbo did chuckle, tilting his head to the side so he could peer more closely at the dwarf. “One advantage of living so long is learning many different things about all races in this world, especially so when you have dealings with them, in one way or another. I know you lot have your outer names and your ‘true’ names given at birth, it’s in very old texts; your history and your secrets aren’t as hidden as you might think. Not that I _needed_ to know beforehand, Kili told me anyway,” he explained before he snickered as Thorin’s face twisted into the long-suffering look of despair that he reserved for his nephews. “That other nephew of yours felt the same as you for a very short moment before he divulged more on the subject himself. Leave them be, they’re young.”

Thorin dropped his hands onto his belt and drummed his knuckles against it as he returned his gaze to the River. “They are not that young and they know better. My nephews are more free with you than they should be, Kili moreso. He grew attached to you early on in our Quest,” he muttered, his tone sullen. He clearly didn’t like that fact but after speaking with Fili and Kili, Bilbo suspected that dislike happened well before Erebor. “Did any other than Gandalf know what you are? I cannot imagine you spoke of it with any in the Company: even my nephews.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Of course not. I doubt any of you would have taken it well and I wouldn’t blame you for it, either. Beorn sniffed me out, though,” he answered grumpily. “Do you know what he did? It was right before you accosted me about my bruises; he told me he knew what I was and lifted me right off of my blasted feet to ask if I was- was tricking you or some such nonsense! I am glad none of you saw it as it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life! But he knew I wasn’t being false when I explained myself and he knew I wasn’t _evil.”_ The dragon squinted down at the dwarf who chose not to look back at him at that statement. Bilbo sniffed.

“He spoke with Gandalf on it to ‘confirm what I told him.’ He also told me on three separate occasions to come visit him if I lived through all of this because he wished to know how our Quest went. I may just do it, I quite liked his home and his honey cakes. I should think when I go back to the Shire that it will be a more peaceful journey - I hope so, at any rate,” he continued quietly. “I don’t think I can take anymore stress.”

“And yet you have taken me from Erebor and we sit in the Wild once more,” Thorin returned with more than a little condescension, lifting one hand to gesture at their surroundings. “One would think this would be a stressful situation. It is not a peaceful one. We have the entirety of Mirkwood between us and the Mountain; you have left me no way in which to defend myself while you hold me against my will. It is by sense alone that I cooperate with you but if this is out of concern for myself, I would think you would have chosen a less _stressful_ way in which to do this.”

The dragon watched the king as he spoke before he hummed in consideration. “I would have to disagree. If you have need to defend yourself while we’re out here, you have me, and I’m capable enough. I’m capable enough as a hobbit considering how many times I’ve saved your rear end. And I don’t think I have to explain why we are not closer to Erebor for this - you know exactly why as much as you may disagree with-”

“You would have me take your _word_ on illness and madness and on the gold in the Mountain,” Thorin interrupted, anger swiftly snapping into place. “You would have me believe it would be to my detriment to be in Erebor-”

“Wouldn’t it?” Bilbo snapped, his voice becoming gravely as a growl left his throat. “The moment I _saw_ you in Erebor, you held a sword to my stomach, Thorin, and I don’t believe you wouldn’t have killed me had you the chance! The Thorin that I began this journey with wouldn’t have done that and the Thorin that welcomed me to stay in Erebor wouldn’t have done that. If Smaug had not escaped the Mountain, you never would have known what I was; you did what you did on your own because you believed I was stealing the Arkenstone. You held me on the end of a sword while you _knew_ there was a live dragon awake and angry and looking for us! That _stone_ took priority over your _own_ life in that moment. If you think being in Erebor was not to your detriment _already,_ then you continue to not just be a fool but a _dangerous_ fool; for you and anyone that might be on the receiving end of your ire. And your _sword.”_ He stared down at the witless dwarf with contempt before he shoved himself to his feet, taking care to not hit him as he whirled around and began to stalk in a wide circle, no longer able to sit still.

Thorin watched him warily as he passed by and sent a glower his way. Bilbo wondered if he thought that he might suddenly eat him or burn him or some such nonsense; not that he _hadn’t_ thought about it, of course, but it was when he was a hobbit and couldn’t actually do it. The blasted king was taking years off of his life around every turn! Bilbo stalked by again and Thorin finally grunted, shook his head, and dropped his gaze to the ground.

“That was ill done; I should have addressed your theft-“ Bilbo groaned loudly _“-your theft_ when we were rid of Smaug. You have admitted that you held the stone then and you have admitted that you kept it from me. It is still a theft, _burglar,”_ Thorin all but growled at him. “But I should not have threatened you in such a way after the aid, deceitfully done or not, you have given us this past year. I owed you a life debt.”

“You _owe_ me a life debt,” Bilbo mumbled in correction as he squinted down at the dwarf. “You haven’t paid it back in any way, you know, you still owe it to me. I haven’t been deceiving you at all, whether you’d like to believe _that_ or not. You are my friend, Thorin Oakenshield, and I care about you, however much you might despise me now. I’d like to see you at home and content - I’d like to see _all_ of you that way. Threats and- and cruelty don’t suit you well and that’s not who you even _are;_ the Company wouldn’t have followed you if it was. Your passion for home and to give your _people_ a home is admirable; when we left the Shire, you cared about that more than anything, more than that bloody stone. Erebor itself means more than a glowing rock ever could and your grandfather lost sight of that just as you have - don’t put a stone from the Mountain, mined like any other, before your family and before your people.” He shook himself as his voice grew hoarse and began to pace again, attempting to rid himself of Thorin’s newfound loathing for him; he rather hated it too.

Bilbo was not at all surprised when Thorin lapsed into silence rather than respond to his words. The smell was still wafting from him, though not as severe as it was at dawn, but enough so that he was warring between his want to believe the dragon a traitor and _sense._ The _dragon_ grumbled as he walked, wishing he could rid the dwarf of his illness so they both could be done with it; he was quite ready to be done with _all_ of the hardships they had gone through thus far. It seemed unfair for the king to be stuck in this and Bilbo thought it just as unfair that he was dealing with it himself.

“You felt nothing when you killed Smaug?” Thorin asked quite out of nowhere and Bilbo’s attention snapped to him.

“What?” he asked far more hotly than he meant to before the dwarf’s words caught up with him and he started. “Oh, er, no? Ah, not really, other than finding it all a bit strange. I flew with him and to see him dead beneath me was very odd, indeed, but I felt nothing in the way that I assume you are asking. I had no family and I had no true friends, not until I met Gandalf. It might have been more satisfying for you to kill him than it was for me but the moment we left the treasury, that became impossible.”

The dwarf stared at the River with a heavy frown. “We hoped- _I_ hoped that the heat from the gold would kill him. I did not think that even a dragon could survive it,” he murmured and Bilbo was pleased to hear genuine regret in his voice. “There are windlances in the Mountain but we could not have gotten to them once he was following us. They would have been a sure way to best him and yet we likely could not have reached them even if we had chosen to forego the treasury.”

Bilbo sighed, nodding in agreement. “Yes, it would have failed. It took a while for me to wake him but thirteen dwarves and a dragon wandering about the Mountain would’ve done the trick fairly quickly. I don’t think there was truly much we could have done, Thorin, to prevent him from following us; I only wish we had not enraged him enough to leave the Mountain. Lake-town is gone,” he replied quietly, watching the king, though he did not move at all. “I will regret that for the rest of my life. They shouldn’t have died because we entered Erebor and you know that.”

Thorin lifted his head and looked toward the sky before he clamped his eyes shut. “Aye. They should not have,” he agreed. “We cannot change it now. Smaug can no longer harm any and for that, I am grateful. If I do not lose the Mountain while I am out here in the Wild, my people will return to it; many of the same dwarves that were forced to leave Erebor will be able to take back their homes. No matter how it happened, they will be glad to see the dragon is no more.”

The kin of _that_ dragon squinted down at the dwarf. “You’re very welcome for that, by the by,” he muttered, sniffing when Thorin glanced up at him with thinned lips. “And do you know what? If _some_ one from _some_ where chose to invade Erebor for its gold in the short amount of time that we are out here while it houses a wizard, then I will step into the Mountain and be rid of them for you. What do you say? I think another dragon showing its face right after Smaug has been killed will put those _schemers_ off. I won’t harm them, of course, but I’ll give them a good lecture while I’m chasing them away; that will surely teach them to not enter a Mountain they know nothing about - its structural state, what _else_ it could possibly house, what wealth they _might_ find in it-”

“Burglar,” Thorin interrupted with an entirely familiar annoyance, “the people of Lake-town will be desperate. Their home is gone, Dale is in ruins itself, and the Mountain holds wealth they know exists. You cannot say what they will do in their current state.” Bilbo snorted.

“Yes I can. They won’t be storming the Mountain. They’ve got their dead and dying to take care of at the moment, they will be suspicious of the Mountain, and they will not want to go anywhere near the dwarves that set the dragon upon them. They are fishermen, Thorin, they are not fighters, and they will not risk more death right now for coin they cannot put to any use for a good long while,” he implored with some exasperation, watching Thorin rake his hands along his face, as if _he_ were the one dealing with someone being _difficult._ “Have you been this paranoid your entire life? I have said it before and I will say it again: you are the most paranoid individual I have met in all _my_ life. And imagine _who_ I have met in my life.” The dragon could not help the laugh that left his throat when the king turned a hot glare on him.

“I have reason to be paranoid,” he snapped, though he didn’t sound wholly convinced of it for the present situation. “I know the desperation of not having a home, of carrying the ill or wounded, and of having no coin to aid in either. I watched my people commit acts they would not have if we were not in such a way. If you know the obsession with gold as well as you have expressed, then you know it does not leave room for sense one might have in another situation. It leads to desperation.” The king stared defiantly up at him with his arms crossed in that broad way of dwarves.

Bilbo stared back, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, it can certainly lead to it. In _some,_ Thorin, not all. Yes, in some, _Thorin Oakenshield,_ it can lead to not having any sense and it can lead to desperation. And in desperation, some may commit acts they would not have if they had their _sense_ about them,” he agreed very slowly as he lowered his head until his nose was feet from the blasted dwarf. “It’s hard to watch someone you know well do things you know they wouldn’t if they were _themselves,_ isn’t it? When you watch someone you care for commit _wrongs_ due to something terrible they have fallen to, it can be _painful_ and you might find yourself doing whatever you can to _aid_ them. I am glad to know that you understand it well.”

The stare he was receiving was not a polite one, to put it mildly, but Thorin didn’t open his mouth to argue. Blue eyes were boring between his own golden and the dwarf’s hands were clenched tight at his sides as he dropped them - Bilbo could see his jaw working as he ground his teeth and he could hear his shallow breathing. They watched each other for a long, tense moment and it was Thorin who finally turned away from him; the king began to walk North along the riverbank and Bilbo deeply inhaled his scent as he went. He smelled his anger and he smelled the tang of copper, but it was the _fear_ that he focused on; the dwarf was frightened and while it hurt Bilbo, he was grateful for it - Thorin was not scared of him, no, he was scared of _himself._

The dragon pulled his head back as he watched the king’s retreating back and let out a sober sigh. “Try not to go far, Thorin, we _are_ still in the Wild,” he called gently after him and sat on his haunches. The dwarf, much like he expected, did not respond nor did he look back; Bilbo knew the need to keep moving when distressed, of course, and Thorin needed time. He would certainly give him it.

——

Thorin _did_ go far but the dragon kept a close eye on him as he did; he walked along the River for some time before he ventured into the valley and began to move in what seemed like random directions. At times, he would head far enough East that Bilbo feared he would need to go after him, but the dwarf would double back before heading off in a seemingly random way again. If it didn’t pain the dragon so very much, he might have enjoyed watching him; but it _did_ pain him and he wished he could grab the heart of Thorin’s illness and tear it from him. He wanted his dwarf back - the one that wouldn’t let _him_ mope.

When the sun began to fall, Bilbo was more than a little startled; the day had both dragged on and flew by - they both had plenty to think about but the dragon hadn’t realized how long they _had_ been thinking. He himself had mostly spent time near the River (or in it) but Thorin had continued to wander for a _long_ while before he found his boulder from hours before and planted himself there. The king fidgeted more than he had earlier and Bilbo wasn’t sure if that was a _good_ thing or not.

As the land became brushed with oranges, pinks, and purples, Bilbo debated finally fetching the dwarf but quickly found he didn’t have to. Thorin stood nearly the moment he meant to and turned toward him before he began to trudge back - when he was close enough for the dragon to observe his face, Bilbo started. The king looked more than a little worse for wear and though he knew it was for numerous reasons, his pallid coloring was indication of the worst of it.

Bilbo stood so quickly the dwarf froze and stared at him with wide eyes - as the dragon cursed himself, he shook his head and walked the few paces he needed to before he came to a stop in front of the wary-looking king. “Sorry,” he offered before he huffed. “I’m sorry, it’s been two days since we’ve eaten, hasn’t it? I don’t think either of us ate much on Durin’s Day and I imagine you’re beginning to feel it. Don’t bother denying it, it’s written all over your face, Thorin.” He squinted at the dwarf as he opened his mouth to no doubt say he was not hungry before he closed it with a heavy sigh.

“I hoped to be in Erebor by now,” Thorin stated, though it was not with anger, only frustration. He sounded entirely exhausted and looked as if he wished for nothing more than to close his eyes and will the day away. “We will not be returning tonight.” It wasn’t a question and Bilbo gave a slight shake of his head.

“No, we won’t,” he agreed quietly and sighed. “Soon, but not tonight. Let’s see if we can find some supper, though, that will help tomorrow. Ah, there should be deer when it gets a bit darker out, they’ll come to graze from the South; let’s get further down the River. I have not done this in a while and it might take me, er, some time to get it down again.” He cleared his throat as he was put on the receiving end of a considering stare. Hunting with a bow seemed far more simple to him right then but he had to make due with what he had!

Thorin looked as if he wished he wouldn’t. “You need not find anything. If we travel to Erebor on the morrow, I will be fine,” he responded, sighing when Bilbo huffed at him. “I have not slept for a time, Bilbo, I am weary. This Quest has been more trying than I imagined it could be and I find myself still not at its end. When we entered the Mountain, I did not think I would spend another night in the Wild; I wish to be home.” He dropped his hands onto his belt and turned his eyes toward the setting sun; it was getting darker by the moment.

Bilbo watched him and attempted to ignore his aching heart. “I know,” he replied with a short nod. “You _will_ be home and then you will spend the rest of your life in Erebor, like you should have been able to from the beginning. I promise you, Thorin, you will have that. I can’t ask you to trust me because I know you won’t but you _will_ have it. For now, however, you need supper.” He sniffed at the leery look he received and pointed his nose South. “Come on, let’s get a bit closer to the Forest.”

He turned and began to walk along the riverbank, keeping his ears open for the footfalls of a king. The dragon was long past Thorin by the time he did follow and it was in silence that they traveled a few miles South in the deepening dark; Bilbo eventually chose a new ‘camp’ along the River that was only two miles from the light Forest surroundings - it led to the Carrock but thankfully, they were still far from it. The dragon suggested the dwarf join him in the valley so they could lie in wait for a herd to show itself - Thorin was not thrilled with the idea but he still tagged along, much to Bilbo’s relief and amusement.

The dragon hunkered down and stilled himself so he looked rather like a rock formation, even to eyes that did well in low light; and they waited. There was not much conversation to be had as the moon rose and steadily crossed the sky - it was colder in the Wild than it had been on their journey yet and Bilbo could see their breath as it left their noses in clouds. Neither of them were much affected by it and even if they had been, they were both distracted when the dragon declared a herd of deer were approaching; he was glad the wind was in his favor as he certainly hadn’t remembered that actually affected hunting. He was wildly out of practice.

Bilbo informed the king that he would call for him when he had snagged a deer before he leapt forward and began to run toward the herd. They scattered in all directions in their fright before they veered together again and fled South toward the Forest - Bilbo had no trouble at all catching up to them. He did, however, have trouble catching them. In a very ill-advised attempt at catching a deer in his paw, he squashed it flat onto the ground under his palm; they were not even as big as it and the dragon forgot his strength, though he _certainly_ _shouldn’t have._ When he lifted his paw and saw the remains of the deer, Bilbo was so incredibly mortified that he quite forgot what he was supposed to be doing as well; it wasn’t until he heard movement from Thorin that he was pulled away from his horror and shook himself. He shouted that he had missed, that was all, thank you, and ran after the herd again, lifting himself into the sky so he would not lose them to the trees.

His next attempt was far more successful; he simply landed in front of the deer, blocked their way with his body and tail, and suffocated three under his wing. When the deer were dead, Bilbo _carefully_ picked them up in his hand and began to make his way back toward where he had left Thorin: he wasn’t there. The king had apparently started after him and was, much to his dismay, inspecting the deer he had turned into a pancake; the dragon said nothing as he approached and instead showed Thorin his perfectly whole catches. Bilbo found himself bathed in mortification again when the blasted king began to _guffaw_ at his failed attempt and even more at his bumbling embarrassment; he kindly shut his mouth when the dragon lifted himself into the sky and aimed the gust of wind from his wings at him. The dwarf could walk back on his own once he picked himself up from the ground, thank you _very_ much.

By the time Thorin made it to the riverbank, Bilbo had gathered firewood from dead trees across the River and made himself comfortable. He refused to use his fire, as it would be too expansive and deadly, and watched smugly as the king was forced to make due with his own two hands. When Bilbo realized that he had lost the dwarf his dagger, however, his good humor melted away; it was quickly replaced with exasperation as Thorin pulled a knife from his boot and butchered one of the deer at the edge of the River with far too much smugness of his own, in the dragon’s opinion.

It was not long before a makeshift spit was over the fire and meat from the animal was being roasted. Bilbo and Thorin watched the flames in silence for some time and when the dragon glanced at the king, he was relieved to see no discernible anger - if anything, he looked lost in thought and calm enough for it. When the deer was cooked and the dwarf went about his supper, his pallor began to look considerably more healthy and some energy returned to him; he asked Bilbo if he planned on eating and when the dragon informed him he wasn’t hungry, he had to convince the king it was actually true, much to his own indignation. Thorin was eventually satisfied with his explanation of his own blasted stomach and they lapsed into a companionable silence as the moon reached the middle of the night sky.

And then Thorin spoke.

“Balin informed me that he feared for me,” the king announced, nearly startling the dragon, “when you were in the treasury. He told me there was a sickness on the gold in Erebor and that I was not like myself. He expected me to join you when we felt the Mountain tremble and knew it was Smaug; the entire Company looked at me as if I were a coward for not aiding you and I could not bear it. I entered the Mountain not to aid you but to be rid of them and perhaps see if you had located the Arkenstone. I thought that I may see Smaug and I do not know why, but I didn’t fear him; I feared that you had not found the Arkenstone. When we found each other, I saw fear in your eyes - not of Smaug, but of myself; I thought you were frightened of me because you did not want to give me the stone and planned to take it for yourself.”

Bilbo gaped at the dwarf as he dug his claws into the earth below them to stop them from twitching. When Thorin sent a brief glance toward him, he snapped his jaw shut - it had been hanging slack. The dragon swallowed as the king turned his eyes back onto the fire and shifted himself, appearing ill at ease.

“I was not wrong in believing you carried the stone nor was I wrong in believing you wished to keep it but I misunderstood why. The Arkenstone was stolen once, not long after my grandfather had named it the Heart of the Mountain and before he had it guarded fiercely. The dwarf that took it was executed when he was found: others have been drawn to the stone like moths to a flame. I thought you were one of them but you have explained you saw a sickness in me when I asked after it. I did not feel ill but when I think of how I turned my sword on you, I do. I have attempted to think of reasons why you would claim that I had fallen to gold sickness and beyond believing you wished to sit on the wonders of Erebor yourself, I could not think of any. But when I think on it by itself, I cannot ascertain a reason why you would have left the Mountain and taken me with you; it seems more likely for you to have killed us all if you wished to claim the gold.

I watched my grandfather’s madness take him and I watched it destroy my grandmother; she wasted away like your Bella - she could not bear to see him in such a way and it claimed her. He spoke little after that but I still made attempts to draw him out of his illness. My siblings could not forgive him, though, and I was alone in it; my father could not look at him anymore himself. My brother did accompany me to the treasury one day when I begged him to but I could not know that his anger would take him - he shouted at our grandfather for losing sight of his family and his people; Thror struck him. I knew then that he was truly lost, that he was no longer himself. Only two days later, Smaug came. I found myself grateful that the Arkenstone was lost to him when I pulled my grandfather from the Mountain though he never truly recovered.

I wished for the Arkenstone myself due to its importance for the king of Erebor considering its history and what it has come to mean for dwarves but I did not desire it the way that he did. Not until we left Lake-town: it was all I could think of then, beyond you. I wished for it but I feared for you and more than once I thought to ask you not enter Erebor because I could not think of how I would fare if we were to lose you to the dragon. When I think on it now, it was when I opened the door that I no longer cared; you were our burglar and that was your only purpose. I did not even care when we heard Smaug and I knew he had found you in some way - you were either going to succeed or fail and I wished to wait for the outcome. After he gave chase to us, I found myself as concerned for your safety as I had been previously but when I heard him demand it from you, I felt betrayed and wished nothing more than to kill him so I could retrieve the stone from you.”

Thorin looked at the dragon as he gave an aggressive sniff and Bilbo knew he was attempting to control his emotions, as he always did. But the dragon could smell grief on him and that, that the dwarf could not change; it sent his heart rabbiting away in protest in his chest and he wished dearly he was his hobbit-self then. He had never felt more uncomfortable as a dragon and he lowered his neck to gaze at Thorin closer to his eye level - it was not natural to look down at the king.

“I know that you have done nothing but aid us on this Quest - aid _me_ \- and you did so while ridiculed and doubted. I was a fool for it and when I apologized, something I should have done much sooner, your resolve only strengthened to see us in Erebor. You have shown nothing but friendship and care for my well-being, in many different ways, and I have continued to wrong you. I find it hard to look at you when you are not yourself because it is unsettling but that does not change your deeds and what you have personally done for me. I am sorry, Bilbo. I am sorry I have accused you of seeking to harm us - you are going out of your way to help, as you’ve always done. I am sorry to have led you to such peril on our journey, you have deserved none of it.”

Bilbo stared at the king as he swallowed past a lumpy, dry throat. And when blue eyes met his, the muscles in his arms jerked without permission - what could he say? There was no sickness in Thorin, none at all, but he didn’t expect words such as _those_ to leave him; it made his chest tighten uncomfortably and he opened his mouth before he clicked it shut again, a small noise of distress leaving his throat. It, at least, spurred him on.

“Thorin, ah, w-well, I… there is no need to apologize for that, I’ve chosen to go along with the peril on my own. I- I didn’t have to stay but you and- and the rest, you are all my friends and I care for you. I understand why you felt betrayed and wronged and, er, why you wouldn’t trust me once you saw _this,_ but, well, it was to be expected. I don’t blame you for it,” he stammered, his nose twitching. “The, ah, sickness, it’s not hard to fall for but it is _very_ difficult to come out of, you don’t need to be sorry for what it does, I understood-”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted as he laughed. The dragon was somewhat alarmed when it came out wet. “I do need to be sorry. I knew what this did to my grandfather and I knew that I felt a dark stirring in my heart but I denied it. I wished not to be compared to him as I believed myself above what happened to him - if I had seen sense, I could have stopped this. The words that you have spoken today have told me I could have but I chose not to and I have caused you harm. You should not forgive me for wishing to see you hurt - I wished to see that today and I am sorry. Bilbo, I am so sorry for the words I spoke to you at dawn, they were a cruelty. I would have done all I could mere days ago to see you unharmed but I have inflicted it the most and I cannot forgive myself for it. I cannot bear to be so easily forgiven by you.”

The dragon dug his claws further into the earth, though it did not stop his shifting; he wished for nothing more than to comfort Thorin because his eyes were _shining_ and it was breaking his heart. He could do nothing as a blasted dragon and it was beyond frustrating - he wanted to embrace the dwarf but he _couldn’t._

“To be quite honest, Thorin, that is my choice,” he managed shakily before he swallowed again. “It’s my choice if and when I want to forgive you and I already have. I- I know what it does, gold sickness, dragon madness, I am intimately acquainted with them, and as I said, it’s difficult to come out of. I don’t- I didn’t- well- oh bother it all. Your words stung for a moment, I can’t deny that, but I’ve been able to move beyond them because you were _ill._ I know you didn’t mean them, truly, Thorin, I do. It’s alright. Please believe me when I say it’s alright.”

“It isn’t,” Thorin stated firmly. His voice slipped into the deep one he had when barking orders as the king he was and Bilbo watched with some apprehension as he stood and faced him. “It is not _alright,_ Bilbo, it will never be. To use matters of the heart as a weapon of malice is not something I can move past: I knew what I was saying as I said it. You did not deserve those words.”

Bilbo sighed. “Well, no, perhaps I didn’t- yes, _alright,_ I didn’t, but Thorin, I’ve already asked you to trust me,” he implored, trying not to squint right back at the dwarf. “Believe me when I say that I _know_ what this does to someone and I _know_ you didn’t mean them. I know your words weren’t true and so I forgive you for them. Do you-”

“They were true,” Thorin interrupted, his features twisting into an agony Bilbo didn’t quite understand. The king clenched his hands into fists at his side and gave a hard enough shake of his head that it looked painful. “They were true. That is why I used them to hurt you, because I meant it: my heart has longed for you for some time now and I felt betrayed by you for more than the perceived theft of the Arkenstone; I felt as if you had betrayed my care for you. I had hoped to express how I felt when we took Erebor but I expressed it in such a way now that I’ve shamed myself; to tell you how I felt out of a desire to hurt you is an insult to my culture, let alone to _you._ Can you see why I wish you would not forgive me for my words so easily?”

Bilbo swayed, gripping at the ground for purchase as Thorin’s words began to mingle together after he was informed the king _longed_ _for him._ No no. He couldn’t have. But there he was, with wet eyes, saying he did and Bilbo was not entirely certain he wouldn’t faint. He felt rather like doing so just to give himself time to get it together as his vision swam - his nictitating membrane betrayed him by clearing his eyes of blurriness and he gaped down at the dwarf. Oh yes, he had certainly fought that battle - Thorin _had_ lost it and he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t as well.

“Oh dear,” he mustered, as that was as eloquent as he could get right then. Thorin began to look both concerned and distressed at once - Bilbo shook himself. “Th-Thorin, I- well- goodness gracious me, how am I to respond to that? Y-You- I cannot do anything because- because- you are very small right now. Oh goodness, sorry, I simply mean that you are choosing a horrible moment to express this to me as I’m not myself, I’m very large. _Thorin.”_ He groaned as the king’s lips pursed and his eyes began to twinkle in that terribly telling way - and then he was _laughing_ at him. _Again._ The dragon sniffed.

“Shush, you’ve caught me terribly off guard. Thorin, _please,"_ he pleaded, swooping his head further down, though he didn’t think that would help him much. The king, thankfully, quieted himself and held his hands up in a gesture of apology - Bilbo felt he was not actually sorry. “To answer your question, I can see why you foolishly think that, but you are forgiven, either way, and I’m not going to argue on that anymore. Though I didn’t, ah, expect… well, I didn’t think you felt that way for me, um-”

“Did you not?” Thorin asked, and though his voice expressed disbelief, he was smiling at him. It was still a swift kick to Bilbo’s belly. “I was a fool, Bilbo, I had difficulties keeping my head around you. You drive me mad, hobbit, but for more than just your insistence on arguing with me. Though I was angry with you when we reached Lake-town, I found myself longing to be at your side, and frustrated when I could not be; my captain informed me I was obvious but perhaps I wasn’t.”

Bilbo blinked twice at him. “To be fair, you’re always a fool and never keep your head around me,” he argued, pushing past his mortification that _Dwalin_ realized it before he was _informed_ of it himself. He snorted as Thorin’s lips thinned and shook his head at the dwarf. “I don’t know how I could be expected to think you held more than only- only fondness- and, ah, er- _oh._ Well, alright, perhaps I’m simply terrible at this, as well, but I think I have a right to be.” He scowled as he was given a pointed look. “You didn’t say anything, you know, and you _could_ have. Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves, you are going to be the death of me yet! Though I, ah, well. Well. I- I may have, _also,_ er. You know. Oh for- do you know what, we will speak of this when I’m a hobbit again.”

He glared at the dwarf that wasn’t bothering to hide his amusement and wished he could waggle his finger at him. “I’m quite serious, I’ll be able to think more clearly when I can sit next to you properly and we aren’t in this sort of situation,” he declared, huffing. “Which I suppose will be tomorrow. If you behave yourself at any rate! We’ll fly to Erebor and I’ll hunt down that wizard to make me respectable again and then we can speak more about this.”

Thorin arched his eyebrows at him, though he was still smiling his ridiculous smile, and inclined his head. “I will be glad to, Bilbo. And I am glad you are willing to do so in the Mountain,” he replied with sincerity. “Though I do not wish to fly back. Dwarves do not belong in the sky.” He sat back down in the spot he had left with a heavy sigh before he glanced sidelong at the dragon that loomed behind him. Bilbo ignored it with a sniff and dropped his head onto the ground.

“Yes, well. I realized that when you stabbed me,” he mumbled, unable to help a chuckle when Thorin paled and opened his mouth to no doubt apologize. “It’s alright, it didn’t even hurt, and I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish besides a very long fall. I’ll make it easier on you tomorrow, though, and, well, we’ll be back in Erebor before you know it. And thank you, Thorin, for your apologies, I _do_ appreciate them.”

The king sighed as he twisted around to look at him. “I would offer another if it wouldn’t lead to an argument,” he supplied drily before he huffed at the eye-roll he received in return. “You deserve them, Bilbo. After we ensure the Mountain is safe, I would like to show you what it is like without a dragon on our heels. I think you will enjoy it.”

Bilbo did smile at that. “Do you know what, I think you’re right. I’ve always been fond of Mountains, you know, and I’d like to see yours,” he replied. “I’d be honored if you showed me your home and told me more about it when you do.”

Thorin’s grin was worth the entire trip, Bilbo thought, as challenging as it had been to get there - when the king began to speak of what he wished to show him in the Mountain, though, he was warmed right to his toes. Watching the dwarf speak of Erebor had always done that to him but he suspected some of it was for a different reason now - Thorin wished for him to know more about the Mountain because he wished to be closer to _him._ And while Bilbo wasn’t sure how to proceed with his own feelings, being of dragon-kind, he still loved listening to the king speak with actual merriment in his voice.

When Thorin moved to lean against the crook of his elbow for both warmth and something far more, Bilbo was rather worried his own heart had been longing for him, too. And after watching the dwarf fall asleep, he was downright terrified that he felt joy thrum through his veins at the thought of it - he had always pushed any longing away but with _Thorin,_ he wanted to embrace it. He was sure it was a horrible idea indeed, but a whisper suspiciously around his left breast told him he had been sunk for a while now and there was no turning back. Well. He hadn’t turned back once on this journey yet and perhaps it wasn’t the time to start _doing_ so.

——

Morning brought unfortunate news in that a storm had gathered over the Easternmost portion of Mirkwood and Bilbo informed Thorin they would have to wait until afternoon to fly back. But far more unfortunate than that was the raven that appeared in the sky and flew straight for them, as when it landed on the king’s outstretched arm, it informed them War approached the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a dragon helping pull someone out of a dragon curse would make the process a lil easier. Baggins' family history messed around with for obvs reasons. I hope you enjoy this one. Next chapter we've got war and other stuff.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	8. Chapter 8

Morning was met with a dense, leaden fog that blanketed the valleys as far as one attempted to see. The skies were grey and there was a chill in the crisp air but rain did not fall - not West of Mirkwood.

It fell heavily East, however, as a storm rolled down from the Grey Mountains and began to cover the Forest. Flying around it would be an unnecessary waste of energy and not likely a good idea anyway; the skies were cold and even a dwarf might start to feel it after hours of being hit by high altitude temperatures. Going _through_ it, though, that was not even a thought to entertain - at least not for Bilbo.

Thorin, on the other hand, was perfectly ready to argue passionately on returning to Erebor, ‘measly storm’ or not, and Bilbo had felt like he was speaking with a dwarfling before long. A frosty rainstorm or a dense _snowstorm_ and they weren’t going to find out which as they weren’t going to fly through it! Eventually the dwarf saw sense (Bilbo yelled at him just as passionately, thank you) and they agreed they would wait until midday, as the worst of the storm would have passed; by the time they reached the Easternmost portion of the Forest, the storm would have hopefully dissipated entirely.

The fire was rekindled and dragon and dwarf sat around it, telling stories, much like had been done during the Quest. It was easy to speak with Thorin now that he had fought his way out of the haze of his illness and Bilbo was perfectly happy watching him spin a tale of his childhood or perhaps his princely days. The dragon most liked hearing about the brother he had not known Thorin had until the day before - a brother that was long dead but felt rather alive as the king spoke of him. A mischievous mind like Kili but the bearing and charm of Fili; Frerin seemed to have been the instigator of trouble between his siblings, though Dis certainly inspired stories of her own. Bilbo wondered if he might meet her someday and found himself terrified at the thought.

He had stories too, of course, and gladly told Thorin some of his particular favorites from the Shire. The Missing Carrots and the Water Wheel Incidents seemed to be the king’s favorites - Bilbo had a flair for dramatics when storytelling and he wished they could have been so carefree on the journey _to_ Erebor. Many tales had been told over the fire but Thorin was rarely part of them, considering his penchant for pretending to be on watch while they were all awake - the dragon liked to call it brooding as that was exactly what it was. The dwarf was still not a fan of the word.

And then the skies broke and the sun began to shine. Though it was still cool enough to be glad for a fire, the valley did warm some, and Thorin and Bilbo both began to grow apprehensive about their journey back. They were eager to see it done but the dragon worried about how the king would fare - Thorin seemed to worry about much the same.

It may have cheered the king up some but Bilbo did not appreciate his loud, repeated concerns of if the dragon might accidentally squash him while they flew. Bilbo threatened to do just that if Thorin did not kindly shut his mouth and promise never to tell anyone of that incident - ever.

“Do you know what,” Bilbo announced, “I am simply going to drop you into Erebor and then I’m going to fly back to the Shire, Mountain nonsense be bothered. See if you’re feeling so smug then. And while I’m there, I will commission numerous fabric scrolls detailing each of your _stellar_ ideas before I send them to those nephews of yours to hang throughout the Mountain. Hmm?” He squinted at the dwarf as Thorin snorted from his place by the fire, lounging on another boulder with his boots resting on those surrounding the flames. He looked far too comfortable.

“Tales will be told of our Quest and set into stone before you could manage such a thing. None of them will depict me in an unfavorable way. You will be too late,” he commented as he arched a brow at the dragon before returning his gaze to the fire. “If you stay in Erebor, you may have a fighting chance.”

Bilbo laughed, even as his stomach was sent into waves. “Yes, well. We will see about that. Might be worth it just to make sure everyone knows how unfavorable you actually are,” he responded with a roll of his eyes. Thorin had been making comments such as _those_ and if he had sweat glands, surely he would be putting them to good, albeit unwilling use. He opened his mouth to continue speaking before he turned his head East, narrowing his eyes - he heard the call of a bird, though it seemed to be quite far off still.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked as he twisted around to follow his gaze. He slid to his feet as Bilbo let out a noncommittal hum in reply as he knew the dragon (hobbit) too well. “What do you see?”

“I thought I heard… ah, well,” Bilbo managed, sliding to his feet and turning East, squinting again. He heard a raven, he was fairly certain of it, but they had yet to see any over the last day; from what he _could_ see of the black speck flying high through the air, it seemed to be one. He eyed the bird as it began to descend and, well, headed right for them. “It’s a-”

“Raven,” Thorin finished, his voice hoarse with what sounded like concern. “A raven from Erebor, I have spoken to you of them. Bilbo, if a raven has traveled this far-”

“Then it can’t be good,” Bilbo supplied, huffing as he began to walk further into the yellowed valley. The king was at his side and they watched as the raven swept low, heading straight for Thorin. He extended his arm out for the bird, though it seemed to give Bilbo a rather wide berth before it decided to land - the dragon supposed he couldn’t begrudge it that.

The raven landed on the crook of Thorin’s elbow and swayed the moment it did, ruffling his feathers in an apparent attempt to get his wits about him. He looked a little worse for wear - he was also perfectly capable of a suspicious glare, as Bilbo was put on the receiving end of one. The dragon cleared his throat and the raven turned its beady eye on the king.

“The wizard, Gandalf the Grey, sent I and my kin to find you, Thorin Oakenshield. War approaches the Mountain,” the raven croaked, startling Bilbo for more than one reason. He quite forgot some spoke fluent Westron.

“What?” Bilbo and Thorin managed to bark out at the same moment, which did not please the bird. He ruffled his feathers again, his beak twisting back and forth as he peered between them.

“War approaches the Mountain,” he repeated. “The Pale Orc. He is bringing with him an army of great size. Gandalf has sent more of my kin to Lord Dain in the Iron Hills and to King Thranduil of the Greenwood for aid. The wizard wished for me to inform you that the enemy will arrive at the gates of Erebor on Trewsday by midafternoon.”

Bilbo blinked at him, rearing his head back and looking toward the sky before he blanched. “Trew- Trewsday? But… but that is today! And midday is already- midday is _now!_ Oh! That can’t be right, there was no word of an army approaching!” Bilbo cried as he looked back down at the bird. “Are you certain he said Trewsday?”

“It is not a day we observe and so I am certain,” the raven replied and Bilbo felt he was now on the end of a reproachful gaze. “Gandalf sent us morning last to find you-”

“Morning last?! Why on earth are you just now-”

The raven cawed shrilly, hopping closer to Thorin’s shoulder. “We did not know precisely where you had taken the king and we do not have your wings,” the bird croaked at him, his feathers slowly expanding from his body in his irritation. “War approaches the Mountain.” The raven most certainly was glowering at the dragon before he finally turned back to the king.

Thorin had paled and was staring with wide eyes at the black bird on his arm. Bilbo could hear his rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing as he swung his gaze to the dragon. “We must go,” he grunted out. “Bilbo, we must go now. If this is true, they will be upon the Mountain within the next few hours and we will have little time, if any, to prepare for it ourselves. If Dain aids us, he will be there now or he will arrive soon. But how can this be? How has Azog amassed an army?” The dwarf shook himself and looked at the raven with no small amount of pain coloring his features.

“Thank you for the distance you have traveled to inform us of this. Rest before you return home,” he said to the raven, who hopped back down to his elbow. It did not speak any further but lifted itself from Thorin and flew toward the River - Bilbo suspected it smelled the good meal lying there in the dead deer. “Bilbo. I cannot ask you to fight-”

“Oh for- truly, Thorin? Truly?” Bilbo interrupted with an indignant huff. “You are lucky enough that I would fight by your side as a hobbit but I am a _dragon_ right now and I think I’ll be _alright._ Goodness gracious me, if I were a dragon the entire time, I would have flown you all to Erebor months ago. I think it’s fair for me to be far more worried about _you_ and the Company - so let’s not leave them alone in this. You know that I have to carry you back.”

Thorin appeared to be warring with his desire to argue. He was staring up at the dragon from under a heavy brow and Bilbo smelled the fear on him; he also thought it was fair to feel _insulted_ by it! The king sighed as the tension left his shoulders and he shook his head, looking down at the dragon’s paw. He stepped forward and laid his hand on the knuckle of Bilbo’s toe before he raised his eyes back to his.

“Very well. I know that you can defend yourself, Bilbo, but you have been hurt in these last few days alone. I wish not to see you injured further and you will not stop me from that; but I will be glad to have you at my side. And I will see the end of the Pale Orc today if he so desires it,” he replied with a growl of his own. Bilbo turned his hand until the broadside of his right paw was pressed into the ground and he arranged his fingers in a way that the dwarf could get a foothold and secure himself. And he readily did it.

Bilbo ignored his own fear and the hammering of his heart as he gave a harsh shake of his head. “You’ll be rid of him and this good earth will be rid of many orcs today, if I can help it,” he muttered, looking East with a long sigh. “Pray that they’ve been delayed. Are you ready, Thorin?” He looked back down to the king as he gently cupped him, enough to surround him and keep him warm in their flight. And _upright._

“I am,” Thorin replied as he returned the gaze. He offered a smile. “Bilbo, I would have you know-”

“Nope!” Bilbo rushed to interrupt in some alarm, shaking his head firmly and looking East again. “No, we shall not be exchanging any sorts of words because we will have plenty of time to do it later. Keep them to yourself for now and when it’s all, ah, said and done, you can say whatever you’d like then. So, yes. Yes. Hold on tight and please try not to be sick on me.” He cleared his throat as he turned and looked toward the riverbank and at the many outcrops there. The dragon pushed forward in a run and the moment he hit them, planted his hind legs down and launched himself into the sky.

Thorin shouted his displeasure as Bilbo spread his wings and gave three strong beats of them; the king was even more vocal when he banked until they were facing East but quieted when the dragon found his flight path and evened himself out. Bilbo would attempt to use his wings as little as possible but the dwarf would simply have to get used to it for the next two hours - the dragon rather hoped his fear of flying would distract from his fear of impending war. He was not likely to be so lucky.

——

Their flight was through bitter cold and Bilbo held the king closer to his chest for it; it helped for warmth, but it did nothing for nerves. Thorin’s anxiety and trepidation were easily smelled and sensed but his own worries were just as strong - the dwarf was sure to feel it, which did not help either of them. Few words were spoken and Bilbo flew as straight and sure as he could; he wished that Gandalf was mistaken but he knew the wizard could not be - War approached.

Erebor grew close after an hour and a half of travel - in fifteen minutes they would arrive. After five, Bilbo felt his heart clench as a scent carried on the wind and he began to hear the distant noises of something he wished to never hear again. The smell was that of orc and blood, warring against each other in his nostrils, and Bilbo knew.

“It’s already started,” he called, wincing when he felt the king stiffen in his hand. “I can hear it and smell it: if there is a battle, Thorin, it means there must be two armies. Someone has come to Erebor’s call for aid and we will join them - I’m going to land on the overlook so we can see what is going on before we fly into the fray. If there are windlances, I will need to be rid of them.” He spoke loudly over the air that soared sharply over them and gave his wings two hard beats to increase his speed.

Thorin did not answer due to it and the next few moments felt drawn out, setting them both on edge. When Bilbo finally left the borders of Mirkwood below, he flew low over Lake-town and swept up toward the high pass, much the same way the Company had first journeyed to the Mountain. He didn’t want the enemies to see him before he joined the fight; the dragon landed some distance from the edge of the overlook and gently let Thorin go. The dwarf immediately ran to the cliff and a noise of pain tore from his throat as Bilbo stalked closer, keeping his head low.

 _War._ He hated the sight of it. Friend and foe stretched across the barren valley below Dale and toward the hills on Erebor’s Easternmost side. The stench of blood was carrying to him, along with orc and troll, and he wished he could be sick to rid himself of the nausea it created. It was a smell he was entirely used to but it still caught him off guard. Bilbo blinked hard as he scanned the valley.

“Men. Elves,” he murmured, glancing sidelong at Thorin, who looked deathly pale. “Thranduil responded. And dwarves-”

“Dain. He has come. Good,” Thorin agreed with a jerky nod as his eyes roved over the battle below. He started and lifted his hand to point East and at the snow-capped hills that lay there. “There. The orc banners. That is Ravenhill - Azog will be there commanding his filth. The sooner we are able to remove his head from his neck the sooner this battle will end.”

Bilbo hummed. “Yes, but we will worry about our friends on the field first, Thorin. He can wait,” he replied, turning his eyes to the dwarf. It appeared as if he wished to argue before sense took him and he inclined his head. “I believe I can see Gandalf near the gates and I imagine the Company will be close to him. I don’t see weaponry large enough to worry over: are you ready to join them?”

Thorin snorted. “I am ready for a blade,” he replied drily, drawing a chuckle from the dragon. “Let us go so I can put my hands on one.” He offered a wry smile to Bilbo and the dragon held his hand out again - it was not right, truly, for Thorin to step into place so easily. Bilbo dearly hoped he could become a hobbit again the moment this battle was done.

Because he _would_ see it done.

The dragon carefully held Thorin in his paw before he backed away some paces - he inhaled sharply and ran. Bilbo hit the cliff’s edge and pushed himself from it, tucking his wings into his sides and diving straight for the field laden with elves, Men, dwarves, and orcs. He let out an almighty roar and watched as many of them faltered to look at the approaching dragon - he kept himself high enough in hopes that their distraction would not last long as he flew toward the gates. He was somewhat surprised to see a decent amount of stone had been returned to the hole Smaug had left in the Mountain - he couldn’t begrudge the dwarves for wishing to close it up.

As Bilbo squinted toward the figure he had caught sight of, he was pleased to see it was indeed Gandalf; the wizard was fighting with both sword and staff, as graceful as he ever had, and appeared to be unharmed. The dragon was able to pick out a familiar handful of dwarves spread around the area, though there was a distinct lack of over half the Company - he prayed there was a reason for it.

The moment Gandalf laid eyes on Bilbo, he thrust his staff forward and a white light burst forth, sending orcs in direct sight of it into screeches as they attempted to cover their eyes. Between it and the dragon, many fled, and Bilbo swept low to land in the space the wizard had made for him. He hit the ground and immediately let Thorin free - the dwarf hopped from his fingers as Gandalf ran to them, accompanied by Gloin and Oin.

“I have never been so glad to see two in all my life,” the wizard declared as he swept his eyes along them. After he inspected Thorin and looked to Bilbo, he offered a slight wink that had the dragon snorting. “The battle has only begun and we will need you both. Are you prepared to fight?”

Bilbo huffed at that, squinting down at Gandalf as Gloin and Oin hooted their joy and surrounded their king. “I planned on watching from afar. Yes, I am perfectly prepared, thank you very much. I wish I had known of this, I never would have gone so far West if I had! Why did you not tell us an army approached?” he asked grumpily and was put on the end of a stern glare.

“I did not think I would have so little time with you until you set that dragon loose!” he barked back, waving his staff toward him. “And while I expected you to leave, I did not expect you to cross the entirety of Mirkwood!” Bilbo growled, puffing up with indignation - he only felt safe seeing as the orcs had turned their attentions away from the dragon they were not prepared for and had skittered back into the fray.

“Ho! And look who has decided to deign us with his presence! What has the West done to you, cousin, that you now befriend dragons?” an unfamiliar voice called and Bilbo’s attention was snared by a rider on a rather massive, saddled boar approaching from the East.

The dwarf was large himself, rounded and with a great red beard - his mustache curled oddly below his chin, light in color, and reminded Bilbo of tusks. He was in gleaming armor of quality, his axes much the same as he leapt from the boar and ran toward Thorin - apparently the dragon was readily accepted or perhaps the dwarf had been informed of him. He met the king and Bilbo winced at the forehead cracks - this was Lord Dain.

“Dain. You have my thanks,” Thorin greeted as he clapped the dwarf on the shoulder with a grin. “You needn’t worry yourself over Bilbo - it is the orcs that should worry. He fights with us.” When blue and brown eyes turned to Bilbo, he was grateful he could not blush, as he certainly would have been doing so. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut in and he felt the thundering footsteps of a dwarf approaching from his left side.

“Uncle!” Fili called in relief as he headed for Thorin, his dimpled grin in place. He was filthy, but whole and healthy; Bilbo could not ask for more. “Wondered when you two would come back from your holiday. It’s good to see you. Thought you might like to have it when you finally showed!” He pulled a familiar glittering sword from his belt and twisted it around, holding the hilt toward Thorin.

The king took Orcrist with his right hand and lifted his left to cup the back of Fili’s head; he pulled his nephew in and pressed their foreheads together, murmuring something Bilbo could not make out, if it was even in Westron. The blond gripped his uncle’s shoulder as he pulled back with a nod and smile that warmed the dragon straight to his toes. And glad he was again that he could not cry! He grumbled as he turned his head toward the battle and scanned those that fought in it, looking for vantage points for himself.

“We should get back to-”

“The _War?”_ Dain interrupted drily as he swung his axe and trotted back to his boar, pulling himself onto it with surprising grace. “That is a mighty fine idea. Thorin, we follow you.” He looked toward his cousin and all present followed - the dwarves looked so relieved and eager to fight next to their king that Bilbo felt proud he had been able to deliver him to do so. Because he was most certainly the reason Thorin was even there, though he would not say so - to anyone not Thorin, at any rate.

“You will fight alongside us?” the dwarf asked Bilbo as he looked up at him, a steely glint in his eyes but a smile still on his lips.

Bilbo shook his head. “Not right alongside you. I risk hurting friend on the ground… but the trolls are _just_ my size. Think I’ll get rid of them for us,” he answered with a growl. Oin, Gloin, and Fili cheered their assent. “Take care, all of you, or I shall be very angry indeed! Do you understand me?” He squinted down at them and Thorin chuckled, stepping forward to lay his hand on Bilbo’s toe again.

“And you,” he replied - ordered - before he stepped back and twisted Orcrist in his hand, turning his eyes toward the battle.

“Bilbo, my boy, orcs and trolls have taken to Dale,” Gandalf announced as he moved forward and raised his bushy eyebrows. “Survivors of Lake-town are there, women and children - I will accompany you there to aid them. Bard will have reached the city by now.” The dragon blinked before he nodded and swung his head down low.

He held it only feet off the ground and Gandalf promptly hopped onto the spikes protruding along his jaw, using them and his horns to climb atop his head. When Bilbo felt the wizard secure himself against the spike on the top of his skull, using his scales as a foothold, he pretended he did not see the affronted look shot at him by a dwarf king. He would _most certainly_ never let Thorin ride atop his head, no indeed! The dwarf would have flown right off if he did not freeze solid first, thank you, and Gandalf had experience in the skies! He cleared his throat as he shifted around and looked toward Dale before letting the king have the satisfaction of a snarky remark.

Of course he wished to boot the wizard right back off when he tapped his staff against his head twice. Bilbo rolled his eyes before he began to run forward, looking for a decent place to gain leverage into the sky; once he found it, he heard a familiar dwarven battle cry and let out a roar of his own that shook the valley. He launched himself into the air and turned toward Dale, pumping his wings twice as they began their flight - Gandalf was steadfastly holding onto him.

“Once you have cleared Dale, take to the field and rid them of the trolls!” he called to the dragon. “Move your eyes to Ravenhill once you are done. The Pale Orc is there!”

Bilbo squinted at the ruined city of Men as he approached it. “You want _me_ to take care of him? Shouldn’t Th-”

“Thorin should be glad to be rid of him no matter the way it is done!” Gandalf shouted in interruption. “He is the head of the snake, Bilbo, and it must be removed! Do it, if you can, and he will thank you for it! May I ask how you drew Thorin from the madness that plagued him?”

The dragon snorted with laughter, unable to help it. “You may not!” he returned as he tucked his wings in and descended toward Dale. “That is between Thorin and I! Though we should discuss the future of the Arkenstone, I think, but much later.” He heard grumbling and grinned with abandon as he swept down, spreading his wings wide to slow himself. He beat them as he fell to the outer wall of the ruined city, lightly dropping one hind foot against it as he lowered his neck - Gandalf leapt from him and onto a stone rooftop with ease. Bilbo pushed himself up once more as the wizard descended into the city and turned his attentions toward the screams of the Lake-town survivors - and the roars of trolls.

Though the city of Men was tightly woven together and half collapsed, it was simple enough to find the trolls that were attempting to kill any in their path. The group of Men that were fighting were indeed led by Bard - Bilbo could not blame them for their fear of him, a dragon so soon after Smaug, but eventually they took notice that he was ridding only enemies and began to take advantage of the orcs’ distractions. The dragon swept over the city thrice before he was certain no trolls had survived and orc numbers rapidly dwindled - they had enough sense to not continue pouring into Dale as a serpent circled it. He turned from the city as the Men there, with newfound energy, began finishing their enemies off; Bilbo himself aimed for the field.

He gave only a single beat of his wings before he tucked them into his sides and dove, eyeing two trolls with wooden clubs that were taking out a great many number of allies _(and_ orcs) at once. They took notice of the dragon bearing down upon them and after blinking dumbly, they turned and stumbled in their attempt to flee - it was not to be. Bilbo swung his hind legs down and grasped them both in his claws, putting an end to them as he applied pressure to their skulls. He held onto their limp bodies and flew to another troll: it was killed when both of its kin were flung onto its head. Now that he had the attention of the orcs, they were attempting to pelt him with arrows if they could and he bared his teeth in a smug grin - let them try! He could not even feel them.

The elves and dwarves and Men seemed to, much like in Dale, realize that he was not at all aiming for them; they gladly took his aid and orcs began to drop like flies wherever he flew and disposed of trolls. He glided over the Southernmost portion of the battle, using his front paws to nab a handful of orcs when he could, crushing them or flinging them far enough away to die from a nasty impact to the ground. The dragon felt he might have been enjoying it too much but killing two orcs in the entire journey had been trying enough for him; he was used to this - _mass_ destruction. Bilbo would not use his fire, however, as he once did; it was too dangerous and after having it lick his back by Smaug’s own, he was sure he never wanted to use it again.

It was not long before the battle shrank on their side and friend moved in toward the forces blanketing the middle of the valley and closer to Erebor. Bilbo took a moment to land and scan the battle for his friends - Thorin and members of the Company were fighting on the North side still; it seemed as if a number of dwarven soldiers had moved closer to the king of Erebor and the Lord of the Iron Hills. The dragon growled as he squinted in his attempt to find the rest of his friends; they were spread out along the Western side, approaching the hillside that housed Dale. But he could spy most of them and they seemed to be handling themselves well - Bilbo did not doubt their capabilities for a moment anymore: he turned his own eyes toward Ravenhill, a low growl leaving his throat.

Azog should have died more than a century ago but he now offered himself up on silver platter - Bilbo would gladly take it and he would gladly drop the Pale Orc’s body into the middle of the field for all to see if he could. Gandalf and Thorin were right: the orcs would be far less inclined to fight when their leader was dead and their survival instincts kicked in. Bilbo huffed and hunkered down before he leapt forward, ran two paces, and pushed himself into the air with as much strength as he could muster; it was difficult enough getting himself in the sky as it was but without a proper foothold it required a great amount of exertion. He beat his wings to soar high enough above Ravenhill so that he could circle it and get a look at where Azog stood - he flew for the snow-capped hill with ruined stone structures and immediately spotted numerous orcs and goblins. They spotted him just as quickly and he watched with a snort as they dove into ruined towers in an attempt to hide from him; some began to scale the hill in their urgency.

But Bilbo did not see the Pale Orc. He narrowed his eyes as he continued to survey the hill - the banners that the orcs used to command the army were left abandoned, fluttering eerily in the wind; he kept his eyes on it even as he began to rid the hillside of fleeing orcs. When he had done away with a handful of them with his claws, he flew for the banners and landed there, his wings draping awkwardly over stone and on the ground; it was a small enough area for him to need to brace himself. Bilbo stared at the ruined structures ahead of him, his eyes narrowed - they were in there. Hiding, but there; he could smell their stench. He lowered his eyes to the battle below, noting that they were nowhere near it before he returned his gaze to where Azog would be attempting to shield himself.

Well. He _had_ promised himself he wouldn’t use his fire but there hadn’t been such a wonderful opportunity for him to before then - one burst of flames would enter the halls and warm the stone as it filled the entire structure and burned whoever was lurking there. If the stones crumbled, they would not harm any below - his chest began to glow as he gathered fire in his lungs before he opened his maw. He thrust his neck forward as he breathed flames for the first time in nearly two hundred years: the fire that left his throat was a thin stream but when it hit the ruins, it was a massive cloud none could hope to survive. He continued to force the flames into the halls, listening to the screeches of many orcs cut off abruptly as dragon-fire took them, and only stopped when the stone began to turn black. He reared his head back, heart hammering away in his chest, his blood thrumming with the thrill of using his flames and grinned at the ruins. Scorched stone was a beautiful sight.

Once he was satisfied, he pushed himself awkwardly along the hill and searched for any other places he might smell or see orcs - there were none. Azog had only kept a handful for himself. Bilbo clumsily crawled over the rocks until he reached the edge of the hill and gazed down at the battle. He scanned it, growling contentedly as their numbers steadily outgrew the orcs’ - though he did slip into a scowl when he caught sight of Thranduil, the pointy-eared curmudgeon, finishing off a decent amount of orcs by himself close to Dale. When he was finished, the elf king turned on the spot and looked straight at the dragon atop the hill, whose stomach churned at it; blasted _elves._ And he could _see_ his smirk before the king took on orcs that had run for him again: _blasted elves._ Bilbo huffed and prepared himself for a dive as he looked toward the gates of Erebor again.

His heart soared into his throat and pumped icy blood, laced with fear, through his veins. No. No, he _hadn’t_ killed the Pale Orc at all: the Pale Orc was on the field below and Bilbo’s stomach turned over - he was already fighting his way toward Thorin and was not far from him. How? How had he done it? _How_ had he gone from the hilltop to the field and how had Bilbo not _noticed_ him?

His roar sounded strangled and frightened to his own ears as he leapt from Ravenhill, nearly plummeting straight to the ground before he was able to right his wings and spread them to steady himself. He beat them and began to fly toward the gates - he did not make it before Azog and Thorin found each other, and their blades met. The Pale Orc was _not_ going to kill Thorin nor give him anymore reason to suffer, Bilbo would make certain of that; he pushed himself harder as he soared over the numerous blades shining with sunlight and blood as they were brought down upon friend and foe both. The screams and shouts became muffled to him as he watched Thorin - and then he himself let out a screech that shook the ground and rattled armor.

Azog faltered after blocking Thorin’s sword, but it was not enough for him to have need to block another blow and he pushed the dwarf back, swinging his own grotesque blade protruding from his arm toward the king. Thorin blocked it and thrust it away from himself, staggering a few paces back as Bilbo swept in to land behind him, smashing orcs under three of his paws; he bared his teeth at Azog, who in turn had backed away from him. Pale blue eyes stared up at him and Bilbo wondered if he had ever happened across a dragon in his miserable life.

 _“Traitor,”_ the orc growled toward him in Orcish, an ugly guttural language, one that Bilbo was much too familiar with. _“You protect dwarf scum and forget who made you._ He _will not forget."_ Azog shook off his sword and a line of fresh blood hit the dirt below him - it was not Thorin’s, but it enraged the dragon either way.

Bilbo hissed at him between his teeth. _“_ He _is long dead and you have already joined him,”_ he replied from low in his chest, ignoring Thorin’s grunt of surprise from below. _“But not by my hand._ Thorin, finish him off and don’t let him keep his head this time.” Azog’s eyes widened for only the briefest of seconds before they became hooded and he let out the rumbling laugh that had grated on Bilbo’s ears outside the Misty Mountains, spreading his arms in welcome for the dwarf; the dragon would not watch him be harmed. He would watch him remove Azog’s head.

Thorin’s anger was deliciously palpable - his thirst for blood was a pungent scent by itself and Bilbo watched as he stepped forward, Orcrist twisting in his hand. He did not doubt for a moment that the dwarf could kill Azog and when they ran for each other, Thorin’s weariness from his exertion thus far melted away and was replaced by his fury. The dragon watched with some satisfaction as the Pale Orc realized it and any mirth died away, replaced by wrath of his own; and then a blade sunk into Bilbo’s toe. He immediately lifted it, taking the foolish orc with him and flinging him aside as he shook the sword from his finger - it stung and reminded him that they were plenty of orcs still to dispose of. Bilbo did not let anymore get close to him and pushed himself away, running for the greater stones that had fallen from the gates, hopping onto one and soaring into the sky. He would not let Thorin become distracted by himself and he wouldn’t interfere with his fight.

The king’s ferocity was something Bilbo had witnessed before but against the orc that killed his grandfather, it was a terrifyingly beautiful thing; his swings of Orcrist were true, though parried, and he did not begin to falter, not even when they had to move among the dead and those that fought around them. Azog’s bellows echoed around them but they took on a distinctly desperate edge that caused Bilbo’s mouth to salivate; the _fear_ of death had always been an enticing thing.

The orc swept his oddly twisted blade in a great circle and swung his momentum toward the king; Thorin brought Orcrist up to block the sword from taking his head but the strength of the blow had him staggering back and fending off two more wild swings before he could parry. The dwarf was covered in sweat, dirt, black and red blood both; his breathing was laborious and erratic as he swung his own sword in an upward arc that the Pale Orc twisted away from. They both thrust their blades at the same moment and Orcrist caught between the fine curve of Azog’s blade; the elvish sword itself made for an awkward escape but it was enough for the orc - he used the might of his sword-arm and thrust Thorin bodily away from him, their blades singing as they scraped together and parted.

Thorin fell a few feet away with a shout and immediately rolled from Azog’s next attempt but Bilbo _saw_ it. As the king moved, he had grabbed a bloodied dagger from a nearby arm that had been separated from a Man’s body; as Thorin pushed himself from the ground, he swept the dagger around and sank it into the meaty thigh of the Pale Orc. Azog screeched as he jerked away and lifted his blade-arm in an attempt to cleave it into Thorin’s back where the king was still half crouched - his faltering was all Thorin needed. He twisted and swung Orcrist up as the orc raised his arms and Bilbo watched as it sliced through flesh, muscle, and bone; it was Azog’s opposite arm that separated from _him,_ the limb arching over Thorin’s head and hitting the ground below with a dull thud.

Azog screamed as he stumbled back and fell onto one knee, his eyes wide with fresh horror as the stump, half of his upper arm remaining, began to gush black blood; he had no defenses for it and the sight of him, on the battlefield with mutilated limbs, was haunting. The orc’s eyes snapped to Thorin in his realization and the king only took a second to gaze at him before he swung Orcrist around in a wide, sure arc: the flesh it tore through loosed Azog’s head from his neck and the Pale Orc’s body immediately slumped, falling to the ground as his head rolled next to it. His eyes were stuck open in his own terror as his head stilled on the ground, blue staring toward the sky, no longer seeing. There was no glory in his death.

Bilbo felt relief flood through him as he looked back to Thorin only to watch an orc run forward, raise a dagger and sink it into his back. The dragon immediately screeched and dove for them as Thorin shouted in pain and swung around to slice his blade through the orc’s side and stomach; his hand found the blade and he yanked it out, tossing it aside. It was some inches long, wide and shined crimson with his blood: Bilbo nearly killed a handful of their allies as he landed hard against the ground and swept his head low toward the king.

“Thorin!” he cried as the king looked at him, his own eyes wide. The dwarf seemed to find breathing an arduous task and Bilbo watched in alarm as he shook his head, attempting to lift Orcrist - it fell from his hand and he cried out in pain. The dagger must have gone in near his shoulder and Bilbo found himself frantically wishing for it to have missed his lung; it was closer to his right side and not near his heart, which was some small comfort. But the dwarf still could not lift Orcrist back up and Bilbo swept his hand forward quite before he realized he was doing it, easily scooping the king into his palm. Thorin would be killed if he lingered. The dragon lifted his head and quickly swept his eyes along the field; what could he do? He could hardly try to stop the bleeding himself-

Gandalf. The wizard was riding swiftly for them from Dale and Bilbo’s roar of relief had most surrounding him staggering away. He turned and began to run the wizard’s way, keeping Thorin as still as he could, even as the stubborn idiot shouted at him to free him; those shouts were rapidly turning hoarse and weak and his blood was warming the dragon’s palm. The wizard seemed to sense something had gone wrong and Bilbo watched his eyes dart down toward his paw; he abruptly stopped his horse and slid from his saddle, running to meet the dragon. They were far enough away now to not be overly concerned of arrows considering the dragon’s girth and Bilbo spread his fingers for the wizard, who swept toward Thorin’s side; he was not gentle in turning him to look at his back and the king yelled in pain for it: the dragon growled.

Gandalf ignored him and with one firm hand, kept Thorin from his feeble attempts to sit up, while he pressed his staff close to the wound and murmured quietly. He harrumphed as he pulled back from him and looked to Bilbo. “That will not last,” he warned, turning and thrusting his arm toward Dale. “Take him there, it is deep and he will soon lose too much blood if he does not receive-”

“Here,” a familiar voice called and Bilbo snapped his attention to another rider. On a massive _elk._ Thranduil approached and stared down his nose at Thorin, whose eyes were beginning to roll as he crept closer to blacking out, much to Bilbo’s dismay; the scent of his blood was filling his nostrils, overtaking any other. “With me. I will take him to Dale and tend to it; Mithrandir, I still require your hands.” The elf shifted his gaze, entirely apathetic, to the wizard and Gandalf gave a short, curt nod, smacking his staff against Bilbo’s thumb.

The dragon bared his teeth as he shifted his hand closer to the elk so Gandalf could lift the dwarf and slide him onto the saddle with the elf with as little jarring as was possible. It was still far too much. Thranduil held Thorin upright and inspected his wound - Bilbo was simply glad the king did not seem aware of his surroundings as he would surely be fighting them. And the dragon realized that was why he wasn’t: Thorin slumped as he lost consciousness and a strangled whine left Bilbo’s throat.

 _“Quickly,_ get him- get him to Dale! He needs-”

“He will live yet, Master Baggins,” Thranduil intoned as he turned his elk and spurred him on in the direction of Dale. Bilbo immediately took a step forward, fully intending on following, but Gandalf’s shout of, “No!” caused him to halt. He swung his eyes to the wizard, who had pulled himself onto his horse and was looking up at him.

“No. You must stay here and _help_ them, Bilbo. We will take care of Thorin: you can do nothing standing outside of the city but cause unease! Stay and fight!” Gandalf commanded before he dug his heels into his horse’s side and began to fly. “Fight!”

Bilbo took two steps forward and faltered, his eyes following Thranduil’s retreating back - he could only see Thorin’s right arm. The elf king seemed to have wrapped a dark material under it and around the dwarf’s shoulder and back to stay the bleeding. It did not stay Bilbo’s _panic._ He whined in his fear, moving forward a pace before he stepped back again, the screams and clangs of metal on metal behind him calling for aid; but _Thorin_ was hurt. Thranduil couldn’t know if he would live or not, they could not know what the knife had pierced, and perhaps he only meant he would at least live until they reached Dale. No no. He could not lose his dwarf, he would absolutely not _abandon_ him, either-

“Bilbo!” a voice cried and he snapped his head to his left, blinking through his daze down at Fili and Kili. They were both pale and staring after Thranduil with wide eyes as well - their fear hit him like a ton of bricks and he shook himself. “Bilbo! We saw- we _thought_ we saw- is Uncle badly hurt? Why does the elf have him?”

The dragon stared down at Kili before he inhaled sharply and shook his head. “He can’t fight with the wound he has, a nice gash, but Thranduil says it’ll be fine. He simply needs to be, ah, patched up, and he’ll be alright. You two seem whole enough and there are still orcs to take care of,” he managed in an even voice. The brunet looked at him, then toward the elf that carried his uncle and finally to his brother. Fili looked just as concerned but gave Kili a quick nod.

“He’s right, come on. Uncle will be fine, Kee, he’s had worse than a gash. _Bilbo’s_ had worse and look at him now,” he offered, bumping his elbow into his younger brother’s. “Let’s finish these bastards off, shall we?” He twirled his swords in his hands and looked back toward the battle; Kili at his side breathed in twice, steeling himself before he turned to stand alongside his brother, his shoulders rolling.

“Right. Though there’s no need for anymore fancy blade work, Fee, Uncle’s officially stolen any glory we might have gained from this. Cut his head clean off, didn’t he?” he laughed, grinning at the blond, who huffed at him. “I’m at 43, how about you?”

Bilbo blinked after them as Fili answered with ‘57,’ to which Kili declared him a liar, and they ran back toward the battle. The dragon swung his gaze back to Dale - the elf and wizard had already gone through its gates and disappeared. Thorin had gone into shock, he knew that, but it did nothing to quell his rising fear; his heart felt like it might burst and despite being a dragon, he was cold and clammy. But he knew that hysteria would help no one and Gandalf was quite right - there were many orcs still to be had. He shook his head hard and turned, beginning to run after the brothers; the orcs looked properly afraid as he thundered toward them.

It did not take long, between a dragon, stronger ally forces, and the spreading realization that the Pale Orc was dead; Bilbo fought viciously with teeth and claws before the orcs did what they did best: fled. A few had turned tail and ran for the East, which inspired many to follow; the elven archers closest began to loose arrows after them, taking down many, while the dwarves and Men began to cut into and bring down orcs attempting to flee from the thick of them. There were still enough to be called a fleet, however, and Bilbo wasn’t going to let them escape; that sort of thing could come back around to haunt some. He took off after them as they climbed the hill that would lead them into the barren, dead lands beyond; as he ran, he dropped his paws onto many of them and lifted into the sky.

The orcs were all heading Southeast and screeching their fear as a dragon followed - they could not take shelter and realized their escape was a futile one. Bilbo flew in a wide circle until most of the orcs were over the hill and running South: he then rained fire down upon them. Even watching the orcs become engulfed in flames and knowing he was likely saving numerous lives while doing so didn’t give him any satisfaction. The moment he was able to stop his spray of flames and ensure none had survived in the scorched, burning valley, he turned South and banked around Ravenhill, beginning to fly for the battlefield again; he could see Dain rounding his soldiers together and began to hear orders barked in Khuzdul as he approached. As the dwarves spread out and began to move through the fallen, Bilbo realized they were looking for wounded that required immediate attention. The elves and Men followed their example as the dragon dove toward Dain, still on his sturdy boar, and landed near enough to him.

“Now I can’t claim to see what my cousin sees in you but you did _fine_ work,” the dwarf immediately called to him, turning his boar to trot in his direction. Dain was covered in dirt, as if he might have taken to rolling in it, the blood that had splashed and stuck to it beginning to cake. His beard still looked rather magnificent. “Can you put those eyes of yours to use and find my wounded? You will see them well before we.” Bilbo blinked down at him as his stomach began to churn.

He glanced toward Dale and was fully prepared to tell the dwarf that he couldn’t, as he had his own wounded to attend to; when he looked back down at the expectant face of a dwarf lord, he faltered. “I- I, ah, I would like to, but-”

“Where is Thorin?!” a gravely voice barked and Bilbo swung his gaze to his right. Dwalin was running his way, only one axe in his bloodied hands, and he looked pale. “Where is he? I do not see him-”

“Uncle got sliced and that arse of an elf took him to Dale,” Kili answered as he bounded close to them from Bilbo’s left, his brother hot on his heels. “They had to stitch him up, I assume, but Bilbo says he’ll be fine. Come on, Dwalin, we need to help. Balin! You too!” He waved on his elders as the white-haired dwarf came from the same direction his brother had, huffing and puffing, but altogether _whole._

Kili, Fili, and Dain on his boar trotted off to find the wounded, shouting words in Khuzdul Bilbo couldn’t begin to understand. He watched them go, blinking heavily before he looked back down at the brothers as he felt their eyes on him; Dwalin’s lips were thinned and he looked furious while Balin looked wary, nearly as white as his hair and beard.

“He’s not alright, is he, laddie?” Balin asked, already knowing full well the answer to that, but they both immediately cursed at Bilbo’s flinch. “Do you know if he will live?”

“Thranduil said that he would but the wound was deep. He- he and Gandalf are working on him now, I imagine, but, ah, well. Grab Oin and go, will you? I’ll tell them there are wounded in Dale that need tending to, which is true enough anyway,” Bilbo replied in a low tone as he scanned the rest of the Company that slowly began to appear. _All_ of them and all of them _upright._

Dwalin was off nearly before Bilbo had finished speaking but Balin remained to wait for Oin, whom he had gestured over. “You alright, laddie?” the dwarf asked him and Bilbo couldn’t decide between a nod or a head shake. No, he was not _alright,_ but he wasn’t the one badly hurt. Balin stepped closer and reached out to pat his knuckle, though it was with much more reluctance than Thorin had. “As much as I hate to say it, he’s got the best healer from here to Lorien at his side and that has to count for something. I’ll come and let you know once I hear word.”

Bilbo nodded at him as he watched Oin approach, no trumpet in sight, as filthy as any other but relatively unscathed. Balin leaned in to mutter in his ear and the healer heard him well enough, as he turned white and nodded jerkily. Bilbo received a final nod from Balin as the dwarves together began to run for Dale to be with their king; the dragon watched them go before he turned his attentions to the fallen around him and beyond. Dain was right, of course, he would be able to spy and smell the wounded before they could; he had an obligation to do it and though it pained him greatly, he began to aid them. It was not simple considering many were extremely suspicious of him still but he ignored any protests and carried the wounded, if he could, to stretchers and cots that were being produced, some makeshift and some not.

It was never in the stories. The stench of the dead, the sticky ground from blood and entrails, the moans and screams of the wounded, some in the middle of dying. The pilfering of materials that were needed from bodies, leaving many without any dignity left in death, bothered him most. None of that was written in books that spun the tale of an enormous battle and he despised being thrust into it again; it was strange, knowing the last time he had been near this it hadn’t even _fazed_ him. If anything, it had excited him.

The sun began to fall and the screams tapered off with it; tents were erected by dwarves and elves, the wounded carried into them and those that had any skill in healing called to their sides - every elf lent their hands. The moment those on the field began to leave it due to the failing light and no further cries for help, Bilbo ran for Dale; some of the Company shouted after him but he ignored them. He didn’t wish to alarm them and knew they would be venturing that way when they could, as well, to see how their king fared. He had to know, he had to hear _some_ word.

Bilbo’s weight caused the ground to shake as he approached Dale and he skidded to a stop outside of its ruined gates, peering down at the soldiers that guarded it. They looked terrified of him but had only shuffled back a few paces - Bilbo cared only for the the smell of death that was thick in the city.

“Master Baggins, I hear,” a familiar voice said, and Bilbo’s attention snapped to the ramparts to his right, blinking at the Man that stood atop them. He started as he recognized Bard, who looked chary to speak to him and had his right arm in a sling. “The entire city has been speaking of you from the moment you left here. The wizard and elf king have assured us you’re on our side but it’s not every day you have a _dragon_ on your side.”

“Bard,” Bilbo managed, blinking dumbly at the Man. “Oh, um, right. It’s certainly not. Bard, I am- well, I am very, ah…” He trailed off as the Man waved off his attempt at an apology but there was a hard tension to his brow that he couldn’t hide. “Your children?”

“Unharmed, thankfully,” Bard replied as he stared at him, his eyes surveying the entirety of his scaly body. Bilbo could _taste_ his distrust. “Only frightened. I imagine you’re here about the king: he’ll live. It wasn’t certain when he first arrived but he seems well taken care of now. Thranduil moved on to help my people after he was done with him- Master Baggins?”

Master Baggins was swaying on his feet and needed to lie down. He did just that, slowly sliding his forearms forward until he could hold his weight, and dropped it with a rumbling thud onto the ground. _He’ll live._ Thorin would _live._ Thorin was _alive_ and he would live. His dwarf _would_ live and really, that was all that mattered to him: he would be glad another time for the others that survived. Bilbo stared into the city from where its gates should have stood, blinking slowly as he watched a few people surveying the structure of the outpost that was just behind Bard, sending furtive glances his way. Thorin was in there somewhere, alive and mostly whole, and he was stuck outside like a misbehaving mutt. Where was the blasted wizard?

“Are you sure he’s not your king?” he heard Bard ask as the Man carefully descended the stairs just on the other side of the stone before he appeared in the dragon’s sight line. “Would you like me to send someone to you? Anyone in particular?” The Man let out a long sigh as Bilbo only shook his head numbly at him before he turned and walked through the first street ahead, disappearing around a corner. The dragon was only vaguely aware of the fact that he wasn’t being pelted with arrows and wondered how the wizard had explained him to the town of Men.

Judging from the short period of time it took for Gandalf to appear in a whirl of grey, Bilbo suspected Thorin was not even all that far from him. The wizard rushed toward the gates with a scowl, shaking his head at the dragon as if annoyed with him, which was entirely confusing.

“Bilbo, my boy, the people of Lake-town may know that you have saved them, but a dragon sitting in front of Dale’s gates and watching them so soon after Smaug is more than they should have to bear at the moment,” Gandalf informed him impatiently. “Away with you so they cannot see you from the _gates!_ Yes, Thorin will live, though Thranduil believes he will not be able to handle a blade as well as he could today. The wound went deep into muscle. A small price to pay.” He waved his staff toward the dragon and Bilbo carefully slid onto his wobbly limbs, backing some distance away.

“He’ll live,” Bilbo mumbled hoarsely as Gandalf followed him. “He’ll live and that’s all that matters. I don’t think Thorin will care if he can’t swing a sword as well now that Azog is dead and he has Erebor. Gandalf. _Gandalf,_ he truly will live, yes?” He collapsed again when he was far enough from the city and Gandalf peered up at him from under his bushy eyebrows. His eyes softened and he stepped forward, knocking his staff against Bilbo’s toe.

“He will live and he will prosper in Erebor, my dear fellow, I promise you. He has been given medicine for the pain and will not wake for some hours yet: he needs the rest. You need rest yourself. We have matters to discuss but I think they should wait until morning: tomorrow we will see you on two feet again,” Gandalf informed him and grumbled as Bilbo growled in response, waving his arm toward him. “Only one night more. You will need your wings again, I should think. Can I trust you to keep yourself from Dale?” Gandalf began to walk down the sloping hill and toward the many tents lining the field, fires slowly beginning to build around them for light and warmth.

Bilbo watched him, sighing. “Yes,” he muttered, feeling rather betrayed, and turned his eyes back toward the city of Men before he clamped them shut. What on earth he would need his wings for, he didn’t know, and he was entirely _angry_ that he was not going to be able to see his dwarf until morning. He trusted Gandalf and Thranduil more than he would any other healers and knew Thorin would be alright but it was not quite the same as _seeing_ it for himself either way. What if Thorin woke and asked after him? The dwarf would not be able to come out and see him, no indeed! He would sit on his cot and lament the loss of his hobbit, which was not at all good. Bilbo should have already been at his side!

“Master Baggins,” a deep voice greeted, nearly startling him out of his skin considering how _close_ it was, and Bilbo’s wide eyes snapped to the elf king that had snuck up on him. Thranduil had his hands clasped behind his back and looked impeccable for one that had been in the middle of a War only a few short hours ago. He was back in his silvery garb without a speck of dirt on him and his shining circlet was in place atop his head. “You have already been informed but hearing your despondency would have me repeat the news: the Fool Under the Mountain will live and be well.”

The dragon squinted at him. “Was I speaking out loud?” he asked suspiciously and received a quirked eyebrow in response. “Er, right. Well, um, thank you. No, actually, thank you, truly. You saved his life and I- I- I can’t even offer words for it! We are _both_ in your debt, thank you so very-”

“You can find my necklace and pay your debts,” Thranduil interrupted lightly, arching both of his eyebrows at Bilbo. “The dwarf is unconscious and cannot stop you from entering his Mountain.”

Bilbo gaped at him, attempting to wrap his mind around _those_ words. “Y-You- your- your necklace- I- oh for Eru’s _sake!”_ he cried, warring with his want to be entirely furious with the elf and the fact that he had _just said_ he was in his debt. “Truly? _That_ is what you wish for me to do? Right this moment? That is what you care for? Of _course_ it is! It doesn’t matter that I’ve- I’ve fought Smaug, flown over your bloody forest _twice_ in the last day alone, and just fought in a _battle,_ no, that _necklace_ matters! Do you not- how can you ask me that when we’ve got so many dead and injured around us?!” He glowered at the king that was eyeing him as if he were a misbehaving hatchling - he’d been on the end of that look before.

Thranduil was silent as he watched the dragon breathe deeply from his sudden indignation. “Your opinion on the matter is noted,” he offered, raising his hand for silence as Bilbo puffed up, preparing for another angry tirade. “Consider for a moment, Master Baggins, your strengths. You will not remain a serpent for long and while you are one, you can take advantage of it. You yourself have spoken of the time it might take to retrieve the necklace - that was as a hobbit. As a _dragon,_ you should not encounter that difficulty.” He shot the dragon a flat look and Bilbo blinked.

His fury melted away and he opened his mouth before he shut it with a click. _Blast!_ The elf was right: that necklace could be found with very little effort on his part as he was now and he could pay Thranduil back as he had promised he would. Thorin would be none-the-wiser until informed Bilbo had ventured into Erebor while he lay on his sickbed and forced him to explain; by then, it would already be too late! He grumbled, digging his claws into the earth as he turned his head toward the Mountain.

“You’re oozing arrogance again,” Bilbo muttered under his breath and heard a low chuckle in response. It was the elf’s turn to know he had snared the dragon. “Yes, alright, I see your point. Fine, I’ll go and fetch them! I can’t give you the gold yet, obviously, though you will still be receiving it. Ah, can you… well. Don’t bring the _elk_ and perhaps hide that hair of yours, and meet me at the gates in, let’s say, two hours. Give me a bit to sniff those glowing gems of yours out, I’m not going to risk carrying them myself. Try not to let any dwarves see you.” He glanced sidelong at the elf, who had that awful smirk on his face as he inclined his head.

“I will be there in two hours time,” Thranduil responded before he turned on his heel and began to stride toward Dale. “Take care with them, Master Baggins, they are far older and more precious than you are.”

Bilbo scowled after him before he stuck his tongue out at his retreating back. Bloody _kings._ He pushed himself to his feet and stretched his aching limbs before he walked far enough away from Dale to not cause it to tremble in his run; the moment he deemed it safe, he did so, and found a steep slope to plant his legs on and launch himself into the air. Bilbo flew for Erebor’s gates again, his eyes firmly rooted there so he could not see the bodies below; he tucked his wings into his sides and lifted his hind legs above the stones the dwarves had managed to make into a small, makeshift gate. He soared into the golden hall and landed, shaking his head as his eyes quickly adjusted to the glow; he would have to get to Erebor’s treasury and he refused to do it by following the destruction Smaug left behind. He embraced the _Pull_ and allowed his senses to lead him through the Mountain, taking as much care as he could to not collapse any further structures; he felt like a burglar as he crept through Erebor and wondered why it felt like he was betraying Thorin. He certainly wasn’t but it felt wrong to move through the Mountain, the only living thing in it, just to take from his treasury.

Well. He was only taking a necklace that his ancestors had taken from the elves, so he supposed it wasn’t quite as terrible as it could be; though it made him wonder what Gandalf had done with the Arkenstone and he cursed himself for forgetting to ask. It was probably one of the ‘matters’ the wizard wished to discuss in the morning, however, and he was eager to hear what Gandalf thought of it. Did they simply hand it over to Thorin as the King’s Jewel? It was still soaked with dragon madness and so soon after pulling himself from it, Bilbo didn’t trust that Thorin wouldn’t fall again. Keeping the Arkenstone until the curse was taken care of also felt like burgling and lying, which was entirely frustrating to the dragon. He nearly fell into mountains of gold.

Bilbo jumped, swinging his eyes around him as he realized he had crawled his way down the Mountain and into the treasury without even noticing. _The_ _Pull._ Right. The dragon huffed, looking down and at the hill of gold just below him before he swallowed. Smaug was dead, certainly, but his smell was still strong and, well, Bilbo had watched him slither out of the same gold and try to kill him immediately after: it made him a bit uneasy. But he had a job to do and he would see it through, just like the blasted Arkenstone! He dove.

Gold exploded into thick showers that rained down upon the hills below as Bilbo hit it, his wings tucked tight into his sides. The hills were smaller to him now, yes, but deep enough for him and Smaug both to doze under; the dragon buried himself in coin and precious jewels, burrowing until he felt his entire body fall under the warmth and weight of it. It had been a very long time since he had last had a treasure hoard of his own and he quite forgot how comfortable it was; it felt like pillows and his body heat warmed it enough to cause it to become his blanket as well. Bilbo hummed contentedly and began to listen to his breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, his mind searching for the gold. It latched on with ease and the dragon began to take possession of the hoard from Smaug (dead or not) to make it his own. Dragons were so deeply attached to treasure that they could feel the Pull to a massive hoard like this one from hundreds of miles away and once they had taken it for themselves, they would be able to claim they would notice if even a single coin went missing. It was _entirely_ true. And Bilbo would soon know where the Gems of Lasgalen lay so he could fetch them and rid himself of a haughty elf king.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or annoyed that Thranduil knew he could do such a thing.

He thought very seriously about staying in Erebor all night and getting much needed rest in the warmth of the treasury but he knew he could not. He would be too far from Thorin and the Company - and the bloody wizard that could change him back into a hobbit. Bilbo wriggled around until he _felt_ a white necklace, a low rumble leaving his chest as he did so before he whined his misery. No one was around to hear him complain about having to get out of bed. Bilbo lifted his head until he could open his eyes and peer around the halls, feeling coin flow down his face in waterfalls, which brought terrible memories of Smaug back, and he pulled himself completely from the gold.

Bilbo wandered to the top of a hill some distance away and looked down as the treasury extended below him. He spread his wings and dove, carrying himself down to the bottom, where the gold was only twenty or so feet above the stone floor and gently landed. He walked through it, looking at the treasures around him; numerous chests made of gold and jewels, gleaming suits of armor, jewel-encrusted crowns, even a rather massive pile of gold ingots, and so many other small items that had no purpose in a dwarven treasury. Thror could not bear to part from any piece he found. Bilbo shook his head as he rounded a pillar and the corner it sat on; he found the jewels easily enough, as they sat innocently just below him, on a golden table. There were many diamonds below them but the jewels that lay in the necklace were shining with that starry light both Thorin and Thranduil seemed to adore so much. He swept his head down and peered closely at them: indeed, they were different than any other gems he had seen before, which was likely why he didn’t need to concentrate to actually find them.

“Such frailty,” Bilbo mumbled to himself before he lifted his head to swing around for a chest or something similar. The necklace was too small for him to simply pick up and he didn’t wish to hold it in his palm, either. It didn’t take long to find a chest, wooden but inlaid with thick lines of gold, and he carefully held it in his hand, using his claw to scrape the many small diamonds around the necklace into it. When it was sufficiently filled, the necklace followed and Bilbo snapped the chest shut, feeling far more comfortable carrying it in his hand. He tipped his head back and scented the air before he rolled his eyes to himself. The king was already outside of the Mountain, near the gates, and Bilbo decided he would take his time getting back to him.

The dragon inspected the structural state of Erebor as well as he could as he traveled through it - dwarven architecture, sound still, even after Smaug had trampled through. It would take years to restore the Mountain to her previous state but it was not hard for him to imagine fallen stone pillars whole and lit with torchlight, dwarves walking below and simply _living._ It would be a reality for Thorin soon and the dragon felt the layers of pain, uncertainty, and doubts he had steadily gained throughout their Quest melt away; they had _reclaimed Erebor._

Bilbo saw the golden glow well before he reached the hall and felt his eyes readjust when he finally entered it himself. He walked down the cavernous hall until he reached the makeshift ramparts and stuck his head over them, twisting his neck around to peer down at Thranduil. The elf was wearing a dark, hooded cloak and staring right back at him with an arched eyebrow. The dragon huffed and carried himself over the gate, taking care until he had left the Mountain; he turned back to look at the elf king as he, on a bay horse, came to his side. He held his paw out and showed him the chest, watching as the king slid with grace from his horse and approached, taking it with something like reverence.

When the elf opened it and his features were lit by the white glow, Bilbo watched his eyes widen in wonder as he reached in to brush his fingertips over the largest jewel, set in the middle of the necklace. The smell was there, the tanginess, the desire for what he held in his hands, but there was some grief the dragon could sense; he chose not to make any snide remarks because of it.

The elf shut the case after a good long while and lifted his blue eyes to the dragon. “They are where they belong at last. You are courageous, Master Baggins, and you have a true heart. I wondered when you left my kingdom and I am gladdened to see you keep your word. A serpent you are but perhaps a different heart lies in you now,” he murmured, his voice even deeper than usual, and in a tone of _actual_ gratitude.

It was entirely flustering. “O-Oh. Er, well, that’d be a hobbit’s heart,” Bilbo replied, clearing his throat and blinking down at the elf king. “Because I am a hobbit and when Gandalf is done buggering around, I will be able to prove it! I am quite fed up with this already, you know, and I never thought I’d even _be_ like this again! This Quest has been a complete pain in my rear end and once Thorin is well, I will tell him so, and I will be done with it. No more traveling with dwarves, no more fighting trolls or- or orcs and other such nonsense! Making secret deals with _kings_ because they’re all so blasted stubborn!” He scowled at the elf that simply quirked an amused eyebrow at him.

“I believe I freed you-”

“After a _deal,_ yes! A secret one!” Bilbo interrupted hotly, turning and beginning to amble down the soft slope before he blanched at the sight in front of him. He turned away again with a shake of his head as nausea grew in his belly. “Yes, I am _very_ much done with all of this. I’d quite like to be in my armchair with a cup of tea and a good book right now. I miss my hobbit-hole, I miss my friends, and I- I am simply- well, I am simply _done._ I miss _home._ I cannot handle anymore of this.” He was rather horrified as he felt his heart twist in his grief and knew he would be in tears as his hobbit-self. Thank Eru he wasn’t at that moment.

Thranduil didn’t speak for a time but he also didn’t move. “This does not stay, as you know. This is not permanent. What lies in front of you and I will eventually be grass, flower, and tree; this will be a well traveled road into Erebor that all will use. Dwarves will open stalls in Dale and Men will open them in the Mountain: life will come again. Blood may stain, Master Baggins, but you know that most can be washed away; these lands will fight the sourness that has plagued them for over a century and they will bloom once more,” he commented. “So shall you. Your grief for what has occurred these last few days will fade and you will find comfort in knowing that the Lonely Mountain prospers.”

“I don’t know if it was worth the cost,” Bilbo replied as he looked toward Dale, lit by torches and lanterns. He couldn’t have known an army would come but it only had because _they_ were there, hadn’t it? Azog wished to be done away with Thorin and he had followed him across Middle Earth to do it; it seemed terribly selfish when faced with the amount of dead that they were. “I don’t think it was, in the end. Setting Smaug on Lake-town and drawing an army here wasn’t worth getting Thorin on Erebor’s throne. How could it be?”

“You could not predict all that has occurred. Lord Dain did not have to answer Mithrandir’s call for aid nor did I. We chose to knowing why the army approached,” Thranduil returned. When Bilbo glanced down at him, he was being stared at in that oddly blank fashion, which was still just as unnerving as it was in Mirkwood. “We knew the cost as we called for arms and yet we both responded. The life that this peril will inspire will keep beyond an Age, Master Baggins, and we found that a worthy enough cause to go to war. The line of Durin will continue in the realm its ancestors created. You and I have already discussed how the return of Thorin Oakenshield will shape the East: do not underestimate the change this will bring to _all_ this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Bilbo watched the elf as he spoke, his nose twitching. They may have discussed that, but given they did while solidifying their lies to Thorin, he hadn’t actually delved into the truth of it. _Were_ so many deaths worth an entire Age and beyond? _Eru,_ he knew _blasted_ _well_ the answer to that question and heaved out a sigh, a low rumble leaving his throat. He forced himself to look over the field of the dead and knew that he could not have predicted nor stopped it; Smaug they were reckless with, and he would regret that for the rest of his life, as he had told Thorin. But it would bring dwarves and Men from every corner of Middle Earth back to the East and he couldn’t think that _not_ worth it.

The dragon shook his head and squinted toward Dale again before he glanced sidelong at the elf. “I’ll bloom, will I?” he asked, snorting as Thranduil’s lips twisted into a wry smile.

“As the creature of Yavanna that you are pretending to be, I thought you might appreciate that sentiment,” he replied drily and shook his head at Bilbo as he began to laugh. “Come, Master Baggins, before the dwarves wish to seek you out.”

Bilbo knew they would eventually do _just_ that and mumbled his agreement as he watched the elf pull himself onto the horse and secure the chest away under his dark cloak. The dragon parted first and Bilbo flew his way to Dale, settling where Gandalf had left him to await the morning. Within moments of his landing, however, he was sought out by half of the Company, who proceeded to shout at him for downplaying the injury to their king; they all looked as if they had been in tears at some point and Bilbo once again thanked Eru he could not join them, as he surely would have. He had avoided many hobbit tears and was entirely grateful for it.

The Company that was with him, who had already seen their king and were assured he would be well, stayed with the dragon through the night, foregoing comforts and beds if they could find them. He would have been a complete mess if he were a hobbit indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine this chapter ten pages longer cause that's what it was until Tea helped me decide where to split it. Whew. Poor Bilbs, he just wants to be a gd hobbit again. And hey, this story is on its way to being wrapped up. How did that happen. I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	9. Chapter 9

When break of day came, the dwarves left his side to return to Dale and see how their king fared; Bilbo dearly wished he could join them but sadly he could _not_ and therefore had to wait for Gandalf.

The wizard appeared at the ruined gates only moments after the dwarves had entered them, however, and his wait was not a long one. Gandalf strode forward until he stood in front of the dragon, who had not bothered to get up, as he was still entirely drained. The rest had been welcome but his every muscle ached still and he wanted nothing more than to dive into the gold in Erebor and let himself heal properly.

“We must go to Erebor’s treasury,” Gandalf declared without any preamble and Bilbo frowned at him in confusion. “We must address the curse that is lying on it and I will need your assistance in doing so. I may be able to lift the worst of it before the dwarves enter that Mountain and another fool falls to it. If not Thorin himself again! In order to do so, I believe that you must take possession of the hoard, to rid some of Smaug’s influence-”

“I already have,” Bilbo interrupted the wizard, clearing his throat. “Er. Taken possession of it, I mean. It’s mine now, really.” He swallowed as Gandalf tipped his head back and peered at him from under the brim of his pointy hat, his eyes narrowing. The dragon stared back at him for a very long and stifling moment.

“What do you mean you ‘already have’?” Gandalf finally asked with no small amount of suspicion. “Bilbo Baggins, when did you enter that Mountain unaccompanied?”

Bilbo huffed, shifting uneasily against the ground. “Last night,” he replied as loftily as he could, letting out a sigh as the wizard immediately began to grumble. “It was for a good purpose, you know! I had to sniff out some, um, gems, and, ah- don’t look at me like that! You were not aware of it and you will continue to remain _unaware_ of it!” Gandalf had turned a sharp eye on him and Bilbo knew he was _entirely_ aware of what he had taken from the Mountain and whom he had given it to.

The wizard mumbled again as he stared up at Bilbo before his mouth twisted and his eyebrows arched in what looked like thoughtful consideration. “Well if that is the case, I suppose it will be most simple for me then,” he commented before he squinted again. “I will not need you after all, my boy, not for that. He will not be pleased when he comes by that knowledge and I will not be around to help you.”

Bilbo might have responded if Gandalf hadn’t reached into his robes and produced the Arkenstone. The gem lay innocently on a bundle of grey robes overtop the wizard’s hand and the dragon felt his heart clench as he looked between it and blue eyes. He knew what he might ask and Bilbo wished he wouldn’t. “Gandalf-”

“I will leave the how to you,” the wizard interrupted and gestured for the dragon to take the stone. He did so reluctantly. “If you believe you can pull the curse from it and wish to give it to him, then do so. If you wish to destroy it, do so. Remember that this stone began a descent into a madness of its own - _without_ the influence of a dragon. Weigh your choices and do what you feel to be right.” He gave Bilbo a curt nod before he turned in a whirl of robes and began to head for Dale again, likely to get his horse; he wouldn’t be riding atop the dragon’s head to Erebor. Bilbo helplessly watched him go but felt a rush of hope as the wizard turned to him once more.

“You should know that Thorin woke for a short time some hours ago and when I asked him of it, he was uncertain of its fate himself. He is well!” he called before he turned on his heel and continued his march to the city of Men. Bilbo lowered his jaw before he scowled.

“Oh for- you- blast it all, Gandalf!” he cried after him, looking down at the gem in his hand before he clenched it into a fist. “You could have started with that tidbit! I fully expect to be a hobbit by midday, you bloody _wizard!_ You are not as clever as you think you are! Thank you for saddling me with this _slight issue!”_ He growled as he pushed himself up, watching the wizard wave his staff dismissively, not bothering to look back again. _Eru save him from wizards and kings!_

He muttered grumpily to himself as he swung his head between Dale and the camp at the bottom of the slope, which had not stopped moving through the night. What in the name of all the Valar was supposed to do with the Arkenstone? _Thorin_ didn’t know what to do with it, which made it all the more confusing! Did he destroy it? Did he try to pull the curse from it and hope that its place in the Mountain never led to disaster again? The king was clearly warring with those questions himself - depending on how _actually clear_ his head was at the time - and Bilbo didn’t wish to be the one responsible for it.

The dragon let out a long-suffering sigh before he turned his gaze toward the overlook; he would use his wings again and hopefully for the _last_ time. Bilbo kept a hold of the Arkenstone as he stretched them before he headed for the same steep slope he had used to the night before. As he soared into the sky, he was met with the bite of a cold winter morning and let his eyes flutter closed - it would be his last day as a dragon and he would ensure it _remained_ that way for the rest of his life. He would never give Gandalf another opportunity to put him through it again.

Bilbo flew above the high pass and over it, looking down at the burnt remains of Lake-town beyond; the structures were weakening and he knew most would be underwater within weeks. His eyes shifted to the remains of a different kind as he approached - Smaug still lay in the Long Lake, looking much the same as he had under Bilbo, though his scales had lost any brilliance they might normally have in the sun. He flew in a wide circle around the Lake when he reached it and eyed his kin - then it _hit_ him. The dragon started in his surprise and had to correct himself when he lost a few dozen feet in the sky; he turned toward the Eastern shores and swept down to land on them. He sat down on his haunches and lifted his hand, opening it and staring down at the sparkling stone. It was lovely, it was otherworldly, it was used to assert control, and it held something in it that had the power to bend minds and drive them mad.

It was much like a Ring of Power. Dragons had met many over the Ages, himself included, though he did not do what his kin did; what Smaug might have done. He hadn’t devoured it - he did not choose to meld himself with the power of a ring. He did much worse, however, by giving it to the creature that had created it; he was sure he was the reason many died but considering it was centuries ago, he shook himself from those thoughts. No, he had never swallowed a ring but he held something similar in hand; Thorin would be free of the stone, none would ever fall to it again, and he didn’t have to find a way to destroy it until it was no more.

The dragon chuckled as he stared down at the Arkenstone. He _would_ be unlucky enough to become a dragon again and to come across such a thing; he could, at least, control its fate. He lifted the stone and watched the early morning sun bounce off of it, the white light spreading over his palm and fingers for it. Bilbo watched it gleam for a moment longer before he tipped his head back and let the stone slide from his hand and into his throat. He barely felt it as he swallowed and dropped his paw back to the ground, lowering his eyes to the Lake once more. Nothing, of course, though he hadn’t expected anything; not _really,_ anyway. He watched the water in front of him, much like a glittering jewel itself, before he slid his eyes to the Northern shores.  
  
_His_ ring lay there still. He could sense the gold - it wasn’t a Ring of Power, the dragon was sure of it, as it felt nothing like the one he had been around. It was abnormal and there was a strength to it but it was altogether _different._ He could do nothing for it as he was then and knew he would have to come back to the Lake as a hobbit; he didn’t know why, but he wished to keep the ring to himself. If anyone knew about it, how could he ever use it to his advantage again? Bilbo shook himself and looked to the skies - he would fly one last time. The dragon had to say goodbye.

When he was in the air, he could pretend that none of the horror below him existed, even if it was just for a small moment. He could have been stepped back into time and embarked on one of his leisurely flights to stretch his wings and breathe in fresh air; smote Mountainsides and land that burned didn’t offer the freedom of open blue skies. Once upon a time, he would have been a common sight in these very same skies.

Bilbo flew until his muscles ached and even then he flew further; he swept over the Long Lake, over the borders of unforgiving Mirkwood trees, and wound his way through the Mountains that lay in the Forest itself. After circling three peaks, he banked East and crossed the River Running, flying alongside it until he reached the Lake again; he circled it, too, letting the crisp air flow into his nostrils and throat, clearing his mind of some of the haze he had gained fighting.

It was only when he saw a rider approaching the Northern shores that he thought of landing and he was tempted to make the wizard wait. He knew why he was there, however, and he had plenty of memories as a dragon, some even fond; a few of those he had picked up in the last few days. He was eager to be done with it. Bilbo dove for Gandalf and watched his horse rear as he landed just behind him, breathing deeply and looking down at the wizard.

Gandalf slid from the horse and stepped closer to him, tipping his head back to meet his eyes. He smiled. “Are you ready?” he asked, quiet and kindly. The wizard knew he was going to return him to his hobbit-self and that Bilbo would never allow anything other than that again; he also knew there was a certain grief to it, as much as the dragon _wanted_ to be a hobbit again.

It did not help that there would be pain. Bilbo nodded. “Do you know what, I think I am,” he answered, stepping back two paces and facing the wizard head on. “I’m ready to be perfectly respectable again. I’m also ready to see Thorin so I can torture him while he is stuck in bed and can’t holler at me.”

The wizard chuckled. “He is awake again,” he informed the dragon with a twinkle in his eye. “And he has asked after you. I told him I would bring you along shortly; let us not keep him waiting.” Gandalf held up his staff, which began to glow a violet Bilbo would never look upon again, and with words mumbled in a language the dragon did not know, the wizard cast his spell.

Pain, yes, _so much_ pain. _Instantaneous_ pain as his bones broke and shifted, growing smaller, those that he did not need disappearing with muscle and flesh attached. His skin surrounded scales and he felt each tear of it. Someone was screaming and he thought it might have been him, but he could not remember why he would be in such agony. The world shifted around him and upended him; the ground below swayed and he felt as if he were falling. When he did indeed hit the ground, it was with a cry of anguish as his breath was stolen right from him with tremendous force and burning hot flames licked at his lungs.

The world stopped spinning. A cold hand was on his forehead and a soft voice was telling him to breathe, that he needed to breathe, as much as it might hurt to do so. He was afraid for a moment that he had forgotten how to before his chest expanded and he greedily began to inhale air, his aching lungs thanking him for it. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered open and he was met with such brightness it only caused more torment and he clamped them shut tight, feeling consciousness begin to fade from him before it was pushed quickly back into proper place.

“It is alright, my dear Bilbo, you are well. Rest for a moment,” Gandalf’s voice said from somewhere near his right, though it sounded muffled and strange. But he did just as ordered and simply breathed, listening to himself as he did before he began to focus on his heart.

It was protesting but seemed to be slowing and as it calmed, his senses began to come back to him. He brushed his hands against the ground and felt pebbles and dirt beneath his fingers; it was cold, much colder than it had been only a moment before, he was sure. Bilbo cracked his eyes open as much as he dared but found it not nearly as bright, as a dark shadow was blocking the majority of the sun from him; a shadow with Gandalf’s hair.

Bilbo blinked slowly to rid himself of the blurriness marring his vision and frowned as the wizard’s features returned. He was smiling down at Bilbo and looked _relieved,_ which seemed entirely _not alright_ \- whatever Gandalf was reading on his face had his eyebrows arching at the hobbit. And then he began to chuckle; the quiet one, filled with fondness and amusement.

The hobbit felt his surroundings fall swiftly into place and was quickly aware he was flat on his back, naked, and Gandalf was kneeling at his side, laughing at him. Bilbo blinked before he huffed, trying and failing to stop his own amusement from bubbling into his chest. He joined the wizard quite before he knew it and laughed, laughed until it hurt in a good way, clutching at his stomach and clamping his eyes shut tight. Their joy carried across the Long Lake and did not stop for some time - and only so Bilbo could breathe again.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows before he brushed tears away from the corners of his eyes, still giggling as he did so. Gandalf was sitting next to him on the shores of the Lake and doing much the same; when their eyes met, they grinned at each other and it wasn’t until the snort of a horse that they were able to gather themselves. _It was over._ Bilbo sat up completely, holding his forehead against his hands as his head swam, letting out a groan.

“I feel like I might have had far too much moonshine,” he mumbled, his voice thick and hoarse to his ears. He realized he was incredibly thirsty and dropped his hands to look up at the wizard, who chuckled again. “It’s good to see you from this size but I’m terribly parched and I feel rather like sleeping for the next decade.”

Gandalf nodded at him and pushed himself to his feet, his joints cracking worryingly. “Perhaps we should see your wounds covered and yourself dressed first; then you may attempt to do that,” he replied as he moved to the horse that had managed to not be spooked out of its own skin. The wizard retrieved a bundle of clothes and a blanket, bringing them to the hobbit, who was looking between his shoulders and at his wounds. They were from Smaug’s hind claws, deep but closed enough to not bleed anymore, lightly scabbed; dirt and who-knew-what-else had managed to get in and it was an ugly, flaming red and black sight. It was also one that could possibly cause some light-headedness - muscle was entirely visible considering how wide they were.

When Bilbo opened his eyes and looked through swimming vision into worried blue, he affirmed that he had fainted and swore Gandalf to secrecy for it.

After a few horribly embarrassing positions, he finally managed to get to his feet and let the wizard tear a pair of smalls to wrap around his shoulders; he would get patched up in Dale. He pulled the proffered tunic on when Gandalf was done. His movements were slow and deliberate as he felt the aches he had as a dragon increase tenfold; he would not have been able to walk half a mile, let alone hike the distance back to Dale. Gandalf had to hold him steady as he pulled on trousers that likely belonged to a child but still managed to be a bit long on him; the blanket was wrapped tightly around him next, which was good, as the cold hit him like a sudden slap to the face and he began to shake. The wizard murmured something about the shock of changing making him more sensitive than he would even normally be before he scooped the hobbit up, dropped him onto the horse and joined him on the saddle.

The wizard kept a tight hold on him as he hardly had the strength for the movements of a horse over a pony and he was glad for it. Their ride was swift, even if it jarred him more than was surely necessary; he could not complain, however, because he was going to see _Thorin._ He would look upon his dwarf for the first time since he held him bleeding in his paw and get to actually _see_ him whole and alive, as he had been assured he was. His stomach was in knots and his heart began to grow increasingly painful in his chest the closer they got to the city of Men; it made it feel uncomfortably tight and his entire body was trembling far beyond that which cold would cause. Gandalf said nothing about it.

They galloped all the way into Dale and inside of its ruined gates; further, then, as Gandalf spurred his horse on, barking out orders to a group of Men to move aside as they rounded a mostly-whole building. Bilbo could not help his gasp at what he saw: a courtyard - at least it had been before it was littered with countless tents and filled with Men, elves, and dwarves. It was a small, buzzing city of its own. The wizard turned his horse right and rode to the end of the Northern side before he abruptly stopped and slid from the saddle. Bilbo couldn’t find any reason to care when Gandalf plucked him from the horse and set him down, his hand secured on his back so he didn’t topple over. The wizard let him find his feet before he ushered the hobbit along and toward the center of the massive courtyard.

“We moved him when the medical tent was ready; the city has been abandoned and is in too much ruin to trust a ward inside stone,” Gandalf explained to him as he led the hobbit between two narrow white tents. They seemed to be heading for a green one ahead, distinctly elvish, but Bilbo thought Thorin likely didn’t care about it himself. At least he hoped not. “Ah! Oin, how is he?”

The grey-haired dwarf was crossing their path and hadn’t seemed to notice them considering the way he startled as he did. “Ho! _Bilbo,_ laddie! Our hobbit has returned!” he cried jovially and said hobbit became concerned for his safety as Oin bore down upon him. Thankfully, he did not embrace him - unfortunately, he began to paw at his head. “You look terrible! I suspect that dragon business did you no service! We should get medicine in you, lad, you are too pale-”

“Oin!” Gandalf barked and the dwarf swung his gaze up to him, blinking as if he had already forgotten the wizard. “Oin, I am escorting Bilbo to see Thorin and you will simply have to wait to treat him. He is healthy enough for now. I will ask you again: how is Thorin?”

Oin’s face immediately fell into a black scowl and the rag he had produced from his belt was twisted tightly in between his hands. “Oh, he’s _fine,”_ he muttered darkly, startling Bilbo into a snort. “He continues to live and be the worst patient I’ve ever had. He is lucky he’s my king or I would have sent him back to the tree-shaggers by now. Funny is it, Bilbo? You can take over for me, he might just listen to sense if it comes from _you.”_ He sent a flat look to the hobbit.

Bilbo continued to chuckle and grinned at the healer. “That is a very big might and you know it. I can only get him to listen _half_ of the time,” he replied, voice still raspy. Oin sighed before his features softened and he smiled at the hobbit.

“Aye, but that’s double the time I can. It’s good to see you, lad. I _will_ be by to treat you, I know that you have injuries,” he warned with a pointed finger before his eyes caught over Bilbo’s head and he harrumphed. “I told you to _stay in bed!”_ The hobbit was shifted rather unceremoniously out of his way and blinked after the healer, who was rounding on another dwarf with red hair that was limping with a wrapped foot. At the sight of Oin storming toward him, he attempted to hobble away, to no avail.

Bilbo glanced sidelong at the wizard, who did much the same, before they both snorted and Gandalf began to lead the hobbit again. His humor immediately melted away as he looked to the green tent and when they stopped just outside of it, Gandalf patted his back encouragingly; he pushed him when Bilbo’s feet refused to work and the hobbit hastily shoved aside the tall, wide fabric entrance before he could tumble into it. He stepped inside, heart hammering away in his chest as he squinted in the lower light, looking toward the right before sweeping his gaze to the left. The left, which housed a sickbed and a dwarf that sat on it; Bilbo could no longer move and he stared at Thorin, his body beginning to tremble anew.

The dwarf hadn’t seen him and looked to be inspecting the stretch of bandages on his left forearm. He had his legs slung over the side of the bed and he was in his trousers, thick woolen socks covering his feet; the steel-toed boots were just under the bed, from what Bilbo could see. Thorin wasn’t wearing any tunic but he was wrapped so expansively in bandages, he nearly looked like he was; his right side was heavily favored and the bandages at his shoulder were raised more than the others. He would have thick stitches under there, Bilbo knew, and he felt his heart clench painfully at the thought, taking two short steps forward.

Thorin lifted his eyes when he heard his footsteps and immediately turned to stone as he caught sight of his hobbit. Blue eyes swept from head to toe before they met his own again. And then Thorin crumbled. He stood from his bed, his movements slower and clumsier than normal, and a terrible gasp left his throat as he began to walk toward the hobbit. Bilbo felt what he had been so thankful he could not as a dragon; a lump swelled in his throat and tears sprung to his eyelashes as he stumbled toward the king - everything _hurt_ again. The hobbit was not able to stay on his feet, but Thorin was there to catch him, and his warm arm slipped around his back, steadying him against a broad chest.

 _“Bilbo,”_ Thorin whispered, the puff of his breath ghosting over the hobbit’s forehead, “Bilbo, _âzyungel,_ you are safe. I am here.” And he _was_. The dwarf gripped at the hobbit before he sank down onto his knees with him: Bilbo could not keep upright anymore. Thorin cupped the side of the hobbit’s head and gently pulled him back to look at him; his own blue eyes swam with tears and he roved them over Bilbo’s face. He looked stricken as he watched the hobbit cry and, taking care with his shoulder, pulled Bilbo firmly against him, his cheek finding the top of his head.

Hot tears were leaving the hobbit’s eyes and he could hardly breathe as sobs wracked through him. Thorin was _there,_ he was _alive,_ he had him wrapped up in his arms and he could no longer hold in his grief. _It was over._ He buried his face against the warm patch of skin exposed on Thorin’s left side and cried into him, his own arms wound tight around the dwarf’s middle. He could _touch_ him, he could smell him the way he was _supposed_ to, he could _embrace_ him; the hobbit did not realize just how dearly he had craved contact with his dwarf and he dug his fingertips into Thorin’s lower back, where no bandages lay. Bilbo did not wish to let go again and as the dwarf murmured comforts into his hair, his own shaky hands sliding along the hobbit’s back as if to convince himself that he was real, he felt Thorin didn’t wish to either.

——

The hobbit couldn’t say how long they sat on the ground together but when he noticed Thorin’s failing strength and sensed his pain, he was able to stay his tears and inspect the state of him through puffy eyes. The king was pale still and his own eyes were heavily bagged; he looked exhausted and Bilbo suggested they get him back to his sickbed - they leaned on each other for help as they moved to it. Thorin sat down with a wince but he didn’t let the hobbit go and attempted to pull him down next to him; Bilbo planted his feet on the ground and shook his head.

“Thorin,” he managed to grunt out hoarsely before he cleared his throat and tried again, “Thorin. You need to rest, I’m fine. You shouldn’t even be moving about with the way your shoulder is; we need to keep it still. Did no one give you a sling?” He furrowed his brow at the dwarf as he averted his gaze and his nose went _pink_ before Bilbo mustered up enough energy to scowl. “Oh, _Thorin._ No wonder Oin is annoyed with you!” The hobbit swung his head around until his eyes landed on the table a few feet down from the sickbed that was laden with bandage rolls, bowls, two salves in shallow jars, herbs, a pitcher of water and a glass. And a _sling._

He retrieved it and thanked Eru when Thorin didn’t put up a fuss - if anything, he looked properly chastised as Bilbo helped him pull it on whilst scolding him. His stitches didn’t need to be stretched anymore than they already were! If he opened them, Oin would likely kill him instead of help him! Though, when the hobbit finished helping him, he suspected Thorin was only cooperating so he could grab him when he was done and yank him onto his lap.

Bilbo went with a startled squeak and gripped the dwarf’s left arm as it snaked around his waist; he couldn’t find it in him to admonish Thorin when the dwarf lowered his head and pressed it to his collar, his breathing shaky. He sighed as he dropped his cheek on the crown of the king’s head, clamping his eyes shut tight; his hair seemed to have been washed just enough to get dirt and blood out of it, but he smelled of herbs, pungent medicine, and the faint smell of sweat one gathered when lying prone from illness or injury. The hobbit didn’t smell any infection but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen and he begged Eru that it didn’t.

“You need rest as well,” Thorin murmured against him, his voice thick and weary. When he lifted his head and looked to the hobbit, his hand slid to rest against the side of Bilbo’s neck. “Gandalf informed me you had found some through the night but I cannot trust what he said as I lay here. Have you slept?”

The hobbit nodded. “Yes, actually, I have, a decent few hours. I’m simply worn out, Thorin, I do believe the journey has finally caught up with me,” he answered with a sigh. “But I’m alright. I hated not being able to be here with you but Gandalf didn’t- didn’t do- _you know._ Not until just a short while ago and believe you me, I wasn’t happy about it, but the Company spent some time with me. I’m glad they’re all relatively unscathed, from what I saw, which seems a miracle considering the state of those at the camp-”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted, his tone suddenly firm and very much _awake._ The hobbit blinked at him in confusion: blue eyes began to look stern and alarmed both. “Bilbo, you are injured. Are these the same wounds you had gained when fighting Smaug? They were deep when you were- were not yourself. Why have you not seen to them?” The dwarf’s hand lifted to his collar, his fingers brushing aside the tunic on his right shoulder before he seemed to want to untie the ripped smalls; the hobbit reared back and slipped off of his lap, waving his hands.

“O-Oh, no, they’re- well, yes, they are the same, but I’d rather not, ah, unwrap them until I can see to them. Gandalf took a look and he said I was alright enough to come and see you. I would’ve done it anyway,” Bilbo rushed to explain, rocking forward on his toes as Thorin managed to level him with his ‘kingly’ stare. Which was looking at him from under his thick brow with stony eyes; the hobbit had to admit it was slightly more unsettling with dark circles around his eyes and hollowed cheeks. “Err- well, I can see to them now that I know you’re alright, I’ll go and find a healer, shall I-”

“Oin!” Thorin barked, causing Bilbo to jump. He scoffed at the dwarf, but Thorin ignored him as he turned his eyes toward the entryway of the medical tent. “Oin! In here. Bilbo has injuries.” The king arched his eyebrows at the hobbit as Bilbo scowled at him, daring him to protest. Which, of course, he would.

He waggled his finger. “I’d really rather not be in here with you when they’re tended to!” he huffed out, glancing across the tent when he heard footsteps. He whined as the healer Thorin apparently _knew_ lurked outside marched his way in and toward him. “You’ve got your hands full, Oin, you don’t need to worry about me. Thought I might, ah, seek out another to help me-”

“An elf,” Oin supplied as he squinted at him, holding his trumpet firmly to his ear. “You would rather see an elf, eh? You think them a better healer than I? Or perhaps you wish to hide the extent of your injuries? Gandalf informed me they would not likely be stitched. Come along, lad, I won’t let you near any tree-shaggers! And you don’t have to worry about Thorin and I seeing them, we have some _experience_ in wounds earned from battle.” He walked around the hobbit and reached under the table, pulling out a stool that had been placed there; he thrust a finger toward its rounded top.

Bilbo warred, glancing between Oin and Thorin, who were staring so expectantly at him. He didn’t mind the healer seeing his injuries - he minded Thorin seeing them. The blasted fool of a dwarf thought simple bruising was cause enough to shout at him (it was _not_ his fault) and he didn’t wish to hear his words when he got a look at his shoulders. They were beginning to feel hot and painful the more he moved, however, and he knew they needed to be seen. The hobbit groaned as Oin impatiently waved at the stool and dragged his feet as he moved to it, sitting down with heavy sigh.

“Fine. But I’ll have you know that if either of you yell at me for injuries I received while fighting that dragon, I will have Gandalf turn me back and I will burn you all to ash. I have been yelled at far too often for injuries that are most certainly- certainly- well- not _really_ my fault!” he threatened, waving his finger at the king, who did not look impressed. “I’m quite serious-”

“You’ll be quite quiet. Off with it,” Oin interrupted, tugging at the hobbit’s tunic until he whined and helped the healer pull it off. It was tossed onto the table and Oin inspected the faux bandages Gandalf had thrown onto him before he found the knot on his right side, beginning to undo it. When it was carefully pulled from the wound, the sharp inhale that Bilbo heard had him wincing - Oin tossed his bandage onto the ground and Thorin got an unfortunate eyeful of it, as well. The king paled further than he already was and swayed on his sickbed before he attempted to stand. One scathing look from the healer cowed him into remaining where he was - it didn’t seem as if his feet would carry him either way.

 _“Bilbo,”_ Thorin sighed in genuine despair. “Bilbo, you should not have come here first. I have not been careful with you. Do you not feel pain? Oin, give him something for it before you begin your work.” He squinted at the healer as Oin turned to glare and heave out a sigh of exasperation.

“If you begin to tell me how to do my _work,_ I will take him elsewhere,” he stated firmly before turning back to Bilbo. “Aye, these are bad, lad. There will be extensive scarring; I cannot close them, they’ve begun to scab. We’ll clean and treat them for infection and swelling. They’ll need to be aired out until the threat is gone. Let us see how pretty it is on your left!”

The hobbit thought there a very real chance of Thorin fainting when the scrap of smalls were taken off and the gashes were exposed. The dwarf had to grip the sickbed to keep himself upright and with the way his eyes became hooded, Bilbo was ready to leap forward and catch him. But Thorin gamely moved past his lightheadedness and shook himself as if trying to be rid of it - the hobbit still kept his eyes firmly rooted on him.

He wasn’t the only one. Oin was watching the dwarf warily as well and it took a long moment before he deemed him to not be in any immediate danger. “Well, if anything, you’ll have a story to tell,” the healer commented to Bilbo with some resignation. “I am worried about infection, these are deep wounds. Think I’ll need an extra pair of hands for this - you stay where you are, Thorin!” Oin pointed at the king, though he had made no attempt to move, before he turned and stormed across the tent. Bilbo watched him go with some resignation of his own before sliding his gaze back to his ridiculous dwarf.

“I think I’ll be alright as far as infection goes. When I was with Gandalf the first time, I only developed one after it reopened twice and we had very little to come by in the Wild to help. I heal rather quickly as myself,” he attempted to reassure, though his smile felt more akin to a grimace when he attempted it. “I’m alright, Thorin, but I’m worried about you. You’ll collapse before too long! You shouldn’t even be up to begin with. Will you please try and relax yourself?”

Thorin sighed. “I am due for more of that foul mixture and I will not have a choice. I wished to be awake when the wizard brought you back to us,” he replied, hoarse with pain, as he carefully pushed himself back onto his sickbed. He had numerous pillows that had been piled together to help keep him propped up and to divert pressure away from his injury; with a wince, the dwarf settled himself down and looked as if he might drop off right then and there. Bilbo was unimpressed to see him fighting it. “I am well, hobbit. When you are no longer cut nearly to the bone you may look at me like so again.”

Bilbo huffed, rolling his eyes even as his stomach churned. Did the king have to remind him of what his injuries looked like? Instead of responding, the hobbit pursed his lips tight and clamped his eyes shut, holding onto his trousers so he did not sway. He was only vaguely aware of footsteps and voices approaching him; it took Oin laying the back of his hand against his forehead for him to crack his eyes open again.

The healer was accompanied by Nori, to Bilbo’s surprise, and the dwarf was inspecting his injuries; the hobbit was not sure if he should feel smug or annoyed that he looked so impressed. After a few mumbles of reassurances, Oin fetched him medicine for the pain and handed Nori a bowl of fresh water with gauze and clean towels; the dwarf was to apparently clean his wounds for him. Deft hands, the hobbit supposed.

He should have expected the pain to present itself with potency when Nori began his work but it still shocked him and he did everything he could to hold back tears. The sting was bad enough but the tugging of split skin was something else entirely and it wasn’t long before his raw muscle began to lightly bleed - it was nothing to worry over but it still very much _hurt._ It didn’t help that Thorin was perfectly awake and watching with a careful eye; he appeared to feel helpless and Bilbo was ready to tell Oin to addle his brains so he would stop worrying over him! The thief finished cleaning and drying his wounds to the best of his abilities and the hobbit nearly broke down into sobs when he finally let him be.

During his momentary relief, he looked down at his freshly-cleaned and shockingly red injuries - it was a mistake. The two on his right side extended from the nape of his neck to where his collar met his shoulder - they, however, were thinner than the four on his left. Those were particularly nasty, beginning at the top of his shoulder and extending over an inch down his upper arm; oh yes, nearly to the bone indeed. Nori had to catch him when he became woozy and nearly slipped off of the stool. Any words spoken to him sounded muffled as if he were submerged in water and it took a cool cup of the liquid itself for any sense to return to him - when it did, Oin was holding him steady and peering down into his face with concern. The healer muttered at him and promised he would get him into a bed soon enough before he went back to his salve mixture.

Nori took his place in front of the hobbit with his arms crossed over his chest and he shook his head. “After everything we’ve been through just in these past few days, you can barely stay conscious because of _those,_ of all things,” he commented in wonder. “You’d think you’d be used to seeing a wound or two in your time. We’ve all seen your scars. But really? It still gets to you?”

Bilbo scoffed at him as he slowly regained his wits. “If you mean because of what I was two hundred years ago-”

“Two hours ago-”

 _“Two hundred years-_ excuse me, I haven’t had to deal with this sort of thing in a very long while-”

“Two days-”

“Nori!” Thorin barked at the dwarf, waving his left hand at him. “You are only in here for one purpose and Bilbo must stay still. Leave him be or leave and send your brother in.” He glowered at the thief before he turned his eyes to Bilbo with a shake of his head, looking down and over his left shoulder, his ever familiar frown turning his brow down; Bilbo _knew_ he was blaming himself for it because he was a complete _fool._

The hobbit arched his eyebrows in a self-satisfied sort of way at Nori, who snorted and moved aside as Oin bustled over with his salve. It was dull yellow in appearance, made of beeswax, echinacea, and other herbs Bilbo couldn’t sniff out; he was confident it would be more than enough to stop any infection from occurring. It hardly meant he was eager to see it applied and was only thankful that no one brought attention to the tears sticking to his eyelashes as it was. The salve was refreshingly cool when it hit his skin but only for the briefest of seconds - it felt as if it boiled after that.

When the mixture had been liberally applied, Oin sent Nori off to ask after a cot so that he could stay with Thorin, and wrapped him up in enough thick bandages that he resembled the king. They would stay on for a few hours before they would be removed to allow his wounds to air out - that process would repeat until the healer was satisfied no infection would take him; Bilbo already wished they were at that point. Considering nothing had really gone his way, he didn’t know why he bothered wasting the energy.

A cot was brought in, covered in fresh blankets and pillows, the table next to Thorin was moved and the sickbed was placed close to his. When Bilbo finally climbed into it and settled, propped up on pillows just like his dwarf, he lamented for the sight they must have made. It didn’t seem so terrible, however, when the hobbit looked at the king and they exchanged soft smiles; they were alive, mostly whole, and Bilbo supposed he couldn’t ask for more than that. Oin didn’t even have to threaten bodily injury when he gave more herbal, medicinal liquid to them both and ordered them to sleep; they gladly let unconsciousness take them.

——

The next day and a half was filled with an incredible amount of pain, the scent of salves, and the taste of foul mixtures; sleep was deep for it but he didn’t feel particularly well rested whenever he woke. He was able to eat a light soup and bread but that was as much as he could stomach - he was terribly jealous of Thorin, who seemed as if he could eat anything; it was _supposed_ to be the other way around.

They spoke quietly only a handful of times before their haze began to lift and some pain, though still dreadful, ebbed enough for them to have visitors; while they were conscious, at any rate. It was late in the camp and the Company, along with many of Dain’s soldiers, had been to Erebor to begin to clear out the rubble. Thorin needed to be officially crowned sooner rather than later and they would do so nearly the moment he stepped foot back into that Mountain; hopefully within the next two or three days he would be able to manage it.

But as it crept closer to midnight, the Company began to file into the large tent, mostly in pairs of two or three; Bilbo and Thorin happily greeted them. The hobbit had Fili and Kili help shove his sickbed against the king’s so they could sit side by side and the brothers were glad to sit at their feet. Eventually crates and stools were produced and by one in the morning, each member of the Company was there; the hobbit would not cry but it was the first time since he had become a dragon that it was like this. After over a year of sitting with the dwarves every evening, he found himself already mourning for the fact that they wouldn’t do such a thing anymore; given the looks on some of the dwarves’ faces, he assumed they felt much the same.

Then again, when they began to recount some of the more ‘entertaining’ moments on their Quest (most at his expense) he felt his grieving period would be a short one.

“Honestly, it’s the trolls I remember the most fondly,” Fili announced with pride, much to Bilbo’s annoyance. The blond looked at him with a grin before he gestured at him. “Bit of a rocky start with minor dislocations but that was a good fight.” Chuckles met his words and the hobbit rolled his eyes skyward - he would rather not relive that moment.

“Now that we are on the subject of trolls,” Thorin began, watching his nephews’ smug smiles slip right off of their faces, “perhaps you can finally inform us of what you had been doing to lose the ponies to begin with. Bilbo would not have had his shoulder dislocated had you not left your duties. Do not think that we have forgotten that.” He sent that _look_ of his their way when they turned red and began to speak over each other.

“It was Fee’s fault-”

“It was _not,_ you bloody liar-”

“He challenged me to a knife-throwing-”

 _“You_ challenged _me-”_

“Enough,” Thorin interrupted with a long-suffering sigh as he looked between his nephews. “I realize now that I do not care. We were lucky to escape with our lives but that was the first of many injuries Bilbo experienced. None of which were his own fault.” The king looked at the hobbit with such a fierce frown that he was sent into snickers before he knew it, much to Thorin’s apparent displeasure considering how he squinted at him.

“Do you know what, despite the injuries I have _now,_ I’ve accepted all the other plights I went through. We’re still alive, aren’t we?” he asked with a grin. The rushed agreements from the blond and brunet at their heels had him turning to waggle his finger. “Though you two should still feel badly about it! That was certainly not the only time you fouled up-”

 _“Excuse_ me!” a haughty voice suddenly interrupted and all heads snapped to Dori, who was rather purple around the nose. He looked indignant, which was entirely confusing. “I am sorry to _interrupt_ but are we going to ignore that Bilbo is actually a _dragon?_ Am I the only one who wants to know more than only _that?”_

Kili’s huff sounded relieved as he turned and leaned closer to the hobbit. _“Finally,_ thought no one would ask,” he muttered before he put on a winning smile as Bilbo glanced sidelong at him. “I, for one, am very interested to know more.”

 _Oh._ Bilbo looked warily between the dwarves who _all_ seemed to have leaned toward him in their apparent desire to know more about _that._ Right. Well, he should have expected it, as he had yet to discuss it with anyone other than the king, but it still caught him off guard and he swallowed. He glanced at Thorin, who looked prepared to tell the Company off, and shook his head at him, laying a hand over his knee to pat it.

“Well! Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken you lot this long to ask,” Bilbo replied lightly as he looked back to the dwarves. Most looked horribly curious while some were unreadable; Dwalin and Gloin, most of all. Oin seemed bored with the conversation already and began to clean his trumpet with the increasingly filthy rag he kept on his belt. The hobbit coughed into his fist and sat up straight. “Thorin mentioned that Gandalf told you that I, um, have always been one? I mean, I wasn’t always a hobbit. My life began in the Mountains just North of here and, ah, it was a very, very long time before I met Gandalf and he- well, he changed me into a hobbit.”

Bofur raised his eyebrows to his hairline. “But why would he do that?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “Wouldn’t think you’d want to be a hobbit over a dragon, of all things. And you were no small thing!”

Bilbo felt his cheeks warm and nodded his agreement. “I wasn’t. You lot have seen my scars. Got the big one when I fought in a battle much larger than this one, which is terrifying now that I think of it, and took an arrow to my belly. Gandalf found me and told me he could save me and give me another shot at life. And, er, a hobbit I was,” he explained, patting his hands against his thighs in his nervousness. It was disconcerting to be stared at in such a way by twelve dwarves. “You must understand, I’ve been a hobbit for nearly two hundred years-”

“Do you not age?” Kili exclaimed as he looked the hobbit up and down with what looked like horror. “How old _are_ you?”

“Very old,” Bilbo answered as he squinted at the dwarf. “I do age, Kili, but it’s slowly compared to an actual hobbit. It’s incredibly slow compared to you lot, actually. So, as I was saying, I have been a hobbit for a good long while! I don’t think of the dragon nonsense anymore if I can help it. At least I didn’t until a bloody wizard showed up at my doorstep and told me he had another adventure for me! I told him no and thank you but he had run off and went to fetch you lot, I assume. I truly had no idea you were coming to my home and even if I had been aware, raiding it was still very rude! When I realized what you planned on doing, I was sure I wanted nothing to do with it and I still don’t know why I’m here most days! Madness, more than likely!”

“But where would we be without you?” Bombur interjected with a cheerful smile. He was on the ground near the table to their left and looked perfectly content - with his position and Bilbo being a dragon both.

“Back with the trolls, I imagine,” Fili said with a chuckle and waved Bilbo on.

“Yes, well. _Probably._ Gandalf did tell me I would be of help to you because of what I am. Er, was,” he continued as he glanced down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He cleared his throat. “I still sense things the way a dragon does and I can sniff things out that you lot wouldn’t even know had a smell. Obviously I decided to come along and I think I was of at least _some_ help considering what I am.” He looked back to the dwarves with a slight smile and felt a hand on his own knee. The hobbit turned his eyes to Thorin, who was gazing so tenderly at him it sent his stomach rolling and he had to fight off a blush.

Ori cleared his throat politely. “What can you smell that we can’t, Bilbo? You had mentioned you smelled-” he abruptly cut himself off and went white as a sheet. After a wide-eyed, furtive glance toward the king, Bilbo remembered what he had mentioned - that he smelled gold sickness on Thorin. “Well, how much stronger is your nose compared to ours?”

Thorin shifted and the Company as one turned to look at their king. “It is fine, Ori,” he reassured, much to Bilbo’s genuine surprise. He hardly expected the king to be alright with speaking of or listening to _anything_ to do with gold sickness; not with the Company, at least. And the dwarf very clearly did know that was what Ori had implied. “If Bilbo could not smell it much would be different. I am grateful for it. Though you did not tell me what the scent is like.” Blue eyes turned to the hobbit.

Bilbo _did_ blush. “That is somewhat difficult to explain,” he informed the dwarf with arched eyebrows. He very much did _not_ want to describe the smell! Not the worst of it, anyway. “It’s, ah… well, it’s a bit like copper, actually. It has a sharp bite to it and it’s the same on everyone that I’ve ever smelled it on. Sometimes it’s stronger depending on, ah, how severe the desire is. I can also sniff out a lie: all dragons can.” He was entirely unimpressed to see the dwarves shift and looked uneasily between themselves - _for Eru’s sake._  
  
“It’s good to know you lot have a guilty conscience! It’s not nearly as pungent as it used to be and it really depends on how you feel when you’re trying to lie. If you’re terrified or angry, I can smell it. Does that make sense?” He narrowed his eyes sternly at the lot of them and would have put his hands on his hips if he hadn’t been sitting down.

“Aye,” Bofur chuckled as he sent a grin the hobbit’s way. “I am apparently the only honest one here and I’m including you in that! Been playing cards with you all this time and I hadn’t a clue!”

The hobbit grumbled. “It’s not- oh, hush,” he scolded as the dwarf began to laugh. “It doesn’t work- oh, do you know what? I’m not even going to bother explaining it to you. I was a dragon, now I am a hobbit! That is all there truly is to it-”

“Did you know Smaug?” a familiar voice asked and Bilbo looked at Balin. The elderly dwarf was unabashed with his interruption and simply arched white eyebrows at him. “You were in the East before he came to the Mountain and I remember well your reaction to hearing his name in your home. I think we all might.”

Bilbo scowled. “Yes, thank you for that,” he muttered, slouching into his pillows and sighing. “I knew him. Oh goodness _gracious,_ I did not know him that well! I simply knew him because we were in the East together; we were never _friends.”_ He glowered as the dwarves seemed to gasp as one - he had not gotten this far to be distrusted because of that. “I’d really rather not talk about that dragon, if it’s all the same to you. It’s too fresh.” He gestured toward his shoulders - he was not beyond using a bit of guilt to his advantage.

Nori snorted from where he leaned against the thick wooden beam on the opposite side of the tent that was holding the fabric. “And what does it even matter? I don’t know if you were watching the same dragon fight I was but I’m pretty sure Bilbo _killed_ him,” he pointed out with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Don’t think many in this world can claim to have seen that kind of thing. When you think about it, it all makes a bit more sense now.”

As Bilbo was opening his mouth to ask _what_ made sense, Gloin barked, “Aye, it does. A spitfire, that one!” He nodded in the hobbit’s direction as Bilbo steadily grew more flustered. “We were all surprised you weren’t as afraid as we thought you might be. Of anything, in fact. You lectured Thorin the night you met him and you’ve done as much to each and every one of us since. It is no wonder why you weren’t intimidated by any: a dragon’s heart!”

Bilbo was sure Gloin didn’t know what a dragon’s heart truly entailed. “W-Well, ah, yes. Honestly, I think quite a lot of that comes with age but maybe it is hard to take someone seriously when they are _attempting_ to be intimidating considering what I was once upon a time,” he replied, glancing at Thorin. The king sent a flat stare his way before he shook his head at him as the hobbit snickered. “I was afraid of _plenty_ on this Quest, thank you very much. I’m simply glad we all are here tonight as there were plenty of close calls that sheer luck got us out of. We have each other to thank for that. I’m quite fond of you lot but I’d really rather not be treated any differently now, if that’s alright-”

Groans sounded and dismissive hands waved toward him. “We didn’t for a moment think you were anything but the burglar we know,” Dwalin shot back with narrowed eyes. They all looked a bit offended. “But you won’t be getting any special treatment either.” He smirked as Bilbo scoffed at him.

“I’m not sneakily asking for that and you know it,” he sniffed, waggling his finger toward the brute. “Alright, sorry, that wasn’t fair. It’s just a little odd for me! But, ah, thank you. Really, thank you all for, um, everything. Gandalf thought I missed being out in the wide world and I told him I didn’t - I have to say he was right, in the end. Though we met so much peril, I’m glad to have come along; I’ve learned many things from you and I’m happy to call you all my friends. If I had a mug of ale in my hand, I’d offer a toast.”

Chuckles and rumbled agreements met his words; he heard a lazy ‘hear, hear’ from Nori. Kili leaned across the cot and patted Bilbo’s knee with a wide grin.

“Think we’ve all learned a lot from you, too, Bilbo,” he commented with a wink. “If we had mugs in our own hands, the toast would be in your honor. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you and honestly, I’m not sure raising a mug would even do it justice. When we’ve got Erebor filled with life and ale both, I say a celebration is in order. We have a guest of honor! A very rare thing for us dwarves, you know.”

“No no no,” Bilbo hastily waved away their cheers. “A celebration for reclaiming Erebor and that is all, thank you, I want nothing for myself-”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed, the traitor. The hobbit turned to glare at him and the king had the gall to grin in return. “We should be thanking you, Bilbo, and you will not stop us from doing it. My nephew speaks wisely; a celebration will be had and I will name you friend to dwarves. That is a high honor.” He arched an eyebrow as the hobbit puffed up and waved his finger toward him.

“You will do no such thing! That hardly needs to be officially said, it’s clear enough-”

“Bilbo, as much as you might know about life, you still don’t understand us dwarves,” Fili interrupted with an exasperated sigh. Bilbo thought it was rather uncalled for though his words were certainly true: the hobbit would _never_ understand dwarves. “Uncle is right, that is a high honor and reserved for those that have earned it; you’ve earned it time and time again. Let us do something for you for once.”

Bilbo was sure he was as red as a tomato. “I don’t- well- oh, but why can’t something like that be done _now_ rather than in front of many others? If that is something you feel you must do, I would truly rather it not be-”

“Poor tyke,” Kili declared loudly over him and with a put on air of sympathy. “We’ll teach you more about us dwarves, Bilbo. This is a great opportunity to and it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking. Mahal, let us do it our way for once-”

“I have been doing it _your_ way for over a _year,”_ Bilbo hissed out, squinting at the brunet. “I have followed _dwarves_ and their _ways_ for a very long while and I can say I miss the Shire for it. You lot make everything far too complicated! We hobbits simply act _friendly_ to our friends, we don’t put them through a ceremony for it!” He grumbled as he was met with many eye-rolls and long-suffering sighs. _Dwarves._

Kili slid closer to him and squeezed both of his knees. “Oh Mister Boggins,” he sighed out, his brother next to him snorting, “it’s good to have you back. Mum will love you, you know. I can’t wait for you to meet her.” He patted his knees with a smile as Bilbo huffed - who said he would be sticking around that long?

“It is late,” Thorin announced as he not-so-subtly pushed his nephew away from the hobbit with his foot. It was an obvious dismissal and the dwarves groaned - everyone looked a little worse for wear. “Go and get some rest. We will continue speaking of this another day. We’ve bothered our hobbit enough for one night. Oin.” The king looked toward the healer and received a nod in reply; it was time for medicine and at the thought, Bilbo felt his shoulders flare in pain. He was suddenly quite grateful that the dwarf was kicking everyone out.

The dwarves, however, much to his dismay, all thanked him in turn as they left and some promised he would be receiving a hug if he weren’t so injured; they swore he would still get one. Bilbo grumbled his good nights and sniffed when Oin ambled over with two small glasses. The healer held them up pointedly before he set them on the table next to the hobbit’s sickbed.

“I expect those to be down by the time I come back to check on you both,” he warned, looking between them. After making them feel like children for the hundredth time, Oin took his leave - it was somewhat to Bilbo’s confusion, as the healer normally stared at them until he was satisfied they had gotten every drop of liquid down their throats. He glanced at Thorin and blinked at the look the king was leveling him with; it was rather intense but there was a distinct hesitancy there as well. Bilbo swallowed.

Thorin extended his left hand to lay between them and the hobbit looked down at the invitation before he raised his eyes to the dwarf’s. They had softened, thankfully, and Bilbo took his hand; the king squeezed his in return. “You told me you would be staying in Erebor for a time, to rest, and to help us begin our work in restoring it. You will still do so?” he asked. The hobbit nodded in response - he wasn’t going to travel to the Shire anytime soon but he knew what Thorin was going to ask of him. “I am glad. They will be as well. You _will_ likely meet my sister if you are to stay through winter and Kili is right: she will like you.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “I’m sure I would like her as well, from all I’ve heard, and, ah, if I am around I’ll be happy to meet her. If she frightens her sons and you as much as it seems like she does, I don’t have a problem seeing how we might get along,” he offered with a smile. He felt that familiar kick to his belly when Thorin returned it and lowered his eyes to their hands. “I can say that I will stay through most of the winter but- well, ah, I _will_ have to return to the Shire. You know that I will.”

The king inclined his head. “Aye, you will,” he agreed as he squeezed the hobbit’s hand. It was with enough pressure that Bilbo knew he was attempting to steel himself. When clear blue eyes moved back to his and Thorin smiled again, the hobbit knew he stood no chance. “I know that Bag End is your home and I know what it means to you but I would not see you parted from me, Bilbo. I could not be parted from _you._ Come back to me and stay. Stay in Erebor with me.” His thumb ran over the back of Bilbo’s hand but there was no hiding the slight tremble in his own.

The hobbit’s heart soared into his throat and his stomach tumbled to the floor. He had _asked_ it and Bilbo was sure he wanted to say yes right away but there were worries that flooded his mind and he gave another hard swallow. “Th-Thorin, you- well, I- oh goodness gracious me. Have- have you thought at all about, um, what I spoke of? About m-me? I’m- I don’t age-”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted as he shook his head. He began to look rather desperate and it broke the hobbit’s heart. “I know. Even if you do not grow old with me as you might have with different blood, I want you at my side. I would do anything to see you happy and well in Erebor with me. You have my heart, Bilbo, but I believe the question you are asking needs to be answered by you.” Bilbo thought it was truly not fair at all when he noticed the dwarf’s eyes were shining and a frog lodged itself in his own throat for it.

 _Right._ Thorin wasn’t saying it in such a way and never would but the hobbit knew it boiled down to: was Thorin worth it? Was he worth the many decades of happiness they would have together only to lose him and live without him? It was why Bilbo had never let himself get close to anyone in the first place! He knew that concern was there and, well- he never wanted to experience heartbreak. He had watched Bella go through it and thought even moreso that love wasn’t worth it; she had assured him it very much _was_ before she died. He blinked as his dwarf let go of his hand and startled when Thorin brushed his knuckle along his cheek - he hadn’t even noticed his swimming vision and felt his face burn for the blasted tear that had dared to escape. Bilbo sniffled as he looked at Thorin, who was staring at him with concern and so much love it was overwhelming.

“Confound you, Thorin Oakenshield,” he mumbled, twisting around and moving onto his knees as he faced the dwarf. He raised his hands and cupped Thorin’s cheeks, leaning down and capturing his lips, hearing and feeling the king’s noise of surprise. It didn’t stop him from reciprocating and his left hand found the back of the hobbit’s neck, pulling him down further, his softening lips moving with abandon against Bilbo’s. It was not a chaste kiss and they needed that after everything they had been through; they needed to feel each other.

When Bilbo attempted to slide an arm around Thorin’s neck, sharp pain shot through his shoulder and he pulled back with an annoyed whine. The dwarf’s hand slid down to rest at his waist as the hobbit pressed their foreheads together, their breaths mingling, and the noise that left Thorin’s throat went straight through his heart. Bilbo leaned back so he could peer at him and when the king’s eyes opened, they were far too wet for his liking.

“Oh, you ridiculous creature,” the hobbit whispered, pressing a kiss to Thorin’s brow as he slid his hand over the left side of the dwarf’s chest. He felt his heart drumming and knew his own mirrored it. “Can’t very well leave you alone to make a mess of everything, can I?” He leaned back on his haunches and brushed his cheeks off, huffing as Thorin chuckled wetly.

“You cannot,” he agreed, dropping his hand to Bilbo’s thigh and giving it a squeeze. “I will need you at my side to rule Erebor. How can I be expected to do so without your aid?” His broad grin as the hobbit snorted was not the least bit charming.

Bilbo sniffed. “I suspect you can’t be. To _rule Erebor._ Who would’ve thought- oh goodness, I’ve just realized- the Company is going to be filling their pockets soon! Remember how I told you it was mentioned that you would ask me to stay and help you run that Mountain? They made a bloody bet out of it. I cannot believe them, I really cannot. I think you should put a stop to it before any coin exchanges hands as it is most unfair. We can’t allow them to think they’re so smart,” he declared, shifting around and carefully maneuvering himself back into his blankets.

“They took wagers that I would ask you to stay in Erebor with me?” Thorin asked with some disbelief and when Bilbo looked at him, he was wearing one of his fierce frowns. The hobbit rolled his eyes.

“Well, they didn’t mean to- to- to, ah, stay _with_ you…” Bilbo trailed off and felt a dawning realization fill his belly, mixing with the horror that grew there. It churned and he clutched at his chest in his shock as _that day_ flashed through his mind. “Oh _no._ They did! Th-They _did!_ Oh, those rotten _liars,_ they did! _Oh,_ I will certainly have words with them- they _lied_ to me! Those bloody- bloody _dwarves-”_

 _“Bilbo,”_ Thorin said his name with some alarm and reached out to grab his wrist. The hobbit hadn’t realized he had started to scramble back out of bed again and blinked at the king, who looked torn between amusement and exasperation. “Hobbit, you can lecture them on the morrow, they have gone to find sleep. Lie back down and take your medicine before Oin has your head. How have they lied to you?”

Bilbo puffed up with indignation. “Ori said that they bet on you asking me to join the Council! But I’ve just realized that is not what they bet on at all! _Oh,_ I’m going to kill those nephews of yours! It makes more sense now!” he cried as he grabbed both glasses and downed his gladly. He shoved Thorin’s into his hands and yanked his blankets over his legs as he wiggled around to settle comfortably against his pillows. When he looked to the king and saw arched eyebrows, Bilbo felt his stomach drop again and a hot flush gather over his cheeks. Bother it all! They had been arguing with each other so often, surely the Company had no cause to believe Thorin would ask him to _stay-_ well, perhaps Ori had been telling the truth.

 _Eru,_ Bilbo knew he hadn’t and after telling the dwarves he could smell lies, he was both terribly embarrassed and rather worried that it had been so easy for Ori to do such a thing. The hobbit buried his face in his hands and groaned, shaking his head as much as he dared. They had taken wagers on Thorin asking him to stay in Erebor with him and not for the blasted _Council._ If Bilbo still had claws, he would be putting them to good use!

“I wager that they will not fare well when you are done with them,” Thorin interrupted his violent thoughts as he settled himself down against his own pillows. He looked rather content and _sleepy;_ Bilbo squinted at him and the king smiled in return. “I informed you Dwalin said I was obvious and I believe it now. You have had my heart for some time, as I have told you. Why does it upset you so?”

The hobbit scoffed. “Why does it _not_ bother you? Hmm? They _bet_ on-”

“It does not bother me because you are going to stay in Erebor and that is all I care for,” Thorin interrupted as he reached his hand across their sickbeds and laid it over the hobbit’s own. Bilbo stared back at him, warring with his annoyance and _those blasted words,_ tapping his thumb against his thigh. The king groaned as he finally muttered where they could shove their bets and squeezed his hand. “Bilbo, you need sleep. We have long days ahead of us; worry of the agreements we must come to with Dain, Men, and _elves_ in two days’ time and not of bets. I will need your patience.”

Yes, well. He had nearly forgotten he was going to be at Thorin’s side when he finally left the tent to speak with Thranduil, _Bard_ (the Master of Lake-town had apparently been killed when Smaug attacked and no one seemed particularly upset about it), and Dain. There were many issues they needed to sort out about Erebor and its wealth both; they would also be addressing their fault in setting Smaug loose on Lake-town and the hobbit was not looking forward to it at all.

“Now I _am_ worrying about it,” Bilbo whined his displeasure and received a heavy sigh for his troubles. _Well._ If he was going to stick around the Mountain, he would need to learn politics, wouldn’t he? Learning them by being thrust into the very politics that would see Erebor begin to thrive was not how he would have chosen to, however, no indeed.

Beyond that, he wasn’t aware of much, as the powerful medicine from Oin did what it did best: stole his senses before it burgled his consciousness soon after.

——

In two days’ time, as Bilbo carefully dressed himself under the healer’s watchful eye, he lamented that he felt very old indeed. He had always felt it in his soul but never in his body; moving at a snail’s pace with aches and no small amount of pain made him feel truly ancient. Some part of him wished for Oin to declare him not ready to leave the tent for a meeting with kings and lords - unfortunately the dwarf simply muttered that he would be close by to keep an eye on him and warned not to jar his shoulders too much. He was healing quickly but the large scabs growing by the day made for a consistent feeling of unease in his own skin.

Thorin didn’t appear much better. His pain went deep and he had difficulties finding strength in his arm yet; Oin had informed him he would likely need to exercise it for months when he was healed enough to regain as much strength as he could. There had obviously been nerve damage but they all hoped it wasn’t extensive; the dwarf himself hadn’t commented much on it but Bilbo saw him working his fingers into a fist with a frown on more than one occasion.

The king was still in a sling but Balin would be writing any notes or contracts for him either way; he would always be much better than Bilbo could ever hope to be and he was glad the dwarf was going to be at Thorin’s side. There was some relief to be had when they left their medical tent and crossed the courtyard to an expansive red one; upon entering, the hobbit saw Bard was still in his own sling. Even Dain had thick bandaging on his left forearm though Bilbo hadn’t seen an injury at the time - he had been filthy. The only one there that didn’t look as if he had fought in a war was Thranduil and the hobbit sent his eyes skyward at the red and gold garb he was in; entirely too fancy for such a meeting in his opinion.

A long, narrow table was set in the middle of the tent and lined with high-backed chairs. It gave Bilbo a sense of foreboding and he was hesitant to even sit down but when the occupants of the tent began to find their seats, he hastily slid into his next to Thorin. Thranduil was across from Bilbo while Bard sat at his left, across from Thorin; the hobbit was _positive_ he did not belong there and wiped his sweaty palms off on his trousers as he watched Dain take a place at the end of the table, three unknown dwarves sitting to his left, Balin just next to them. The white-haired dwarf had thick rolls of parchment and an ink quill at the ready; a Man Bilbo didn’t recognize next to Bard had the same and Thranduil- well, neither he nor the elves next to him had anything in front of them.

“It looks like we are settled then,” Balin observed and harrumphed loudly before he continued. “We have much to discuss today. The first of which is Erebor’s request for aid in beginning to restore the Mountain. Fair payment will be offered to any-”

“Aye, we can move along,” Dain interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You have my numbers and I have sent for more to replace my wounded. We will see Erebor fortified soon. Thorin, when are you to be crowned?” He fixed his cousin with a stern eye and Bilbo glanced sidelong at the king, who inclined his head in acknowledgment of Dain’s aid.

“Tomorrow we move to the Mountain and the ceremony will be at dusk. The Gallery of the Kings has been cleared of rubble and it will take place there. Other halls will take more time to be returned to their former glory,” he informed the Iron Hills lord. Bilbo noticed his fist clench into a white-knuckled grip on the table. “It is customary to extend an invitation to friends of Erebor and I would do so now.” The king turned his eye on Thranduil, whose eyebrows only just noticeably arched.

“We will be honored to see you crowned,” he replied. Bilbo looked skyward again - he hadn’t bothered to hide his mocking tone. “And a son of Durin will once more be in the East.” The hobbit squinted at him; they had only just discussed how that was a _good_ thing and the blasted elf was poking at a bear for no reason. He could _feel_ Thorin’s annoyance.

The dwarf king stared at Thranduil from under his heavy brow and Bilbo slid his hand to his thigh, patting it; Thorin’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth. “There is another _matter_ that I would see addressed,” he all but snapped with a sharp bite and the hobbit squeezed his thigh for it. Thorin took in a steadying breath though his voice was still laced with derision as he continued. “I am in your debt. I would see it paid by returning your prized jewels to you if that is something you are willing to acquiesce.”

Bilbo felt all blood drain from his face as his heart skipped and he swung wide eyes from the dwarf to Thranduil, his stomach rolling. _What?_ He would _what?_ That was _not at all_ what he had expected to leave Thorin’s mouth and why, _why_ hadn’t the king told him he planned on doing such a thing?! He was going to kill him! Or boot him back to the Shire! The hobbit planted his elbow on the table and pressed his fist to his mouth as he looked to the elf for help - and to beg him not to say anything. Thranduil didn’t spare a glance his way.

He merely arched a brow at Thorin before he inclined his head. “It is. Such lengths should not have been required to see that done but I will consider your debts repaid for it,” he agreed. Bilbo thanked Eru he had that eerie dead-like fashion to his face as _he_ certainly did not and was only glad Thorin was not looking at him - he was too busy glaring at the elf king. When the dwarf finally turned away to address Dain again, blue eyes slid to Bilbo and he found himself immediately grow wary at the mirth he saw swimming there. He squinted back at Thranduil in what he hoped was a very clear warning - they would need to discuss king’s _incredibly unexpected_ change of heart.

The hobbit once again hoped he survived Thorin Oakenshield.

Of course he _had_ given those jewels as promised because he had made a deal to free them from _dungeons_ and to get Thorin’s hairy arse back into Erebor. Bilbo’s resolve strengthened and he vowed that if the dwarf shouted at him for it, he _would_ actually punch him; he had done what he _had_ to do! Perhaps he could leave the deal out of it and simply say he had thought it the right thing to do after the battle. It didn’t wash away his newfound nausea, of course, because it was _just his luck._

For the next few moments the hobbit attempted to fight his way out of the dazed state Thorin had thrust him into so he could pay attention to the proceedings around him. There were matters of the dead that were still being moved, or in Dain’s case, identified and pieces of armor or their weapons gathered to take back home; they belonged in the Iron Hills and not Erebor. The disposal of orcs, trolls, and goblins was being dealt with far to the East of Ravenhill - a deep pit had been dug and they were being burned; as they spoke of it, Bilbo’s thoughts drifted to Smaug.

Bard seemed to join him. “And what of the dragon that still rots in the Long Lake?” he interjected, his first question posed thus far. Bilbo was not surprised to see anger in his eyes and felt shame for it. “We do not have the hands to dispose of him while we tend to our wounded and with our attempt to get Dale habitable. What of the city’s restoration? Will we have the help of the dwarves that sent us to try and live in such a ruin?”

Thorin held his hand up for peace and inclined his head toward the Man. “Aye, you will. My people will not arrive for some months yet but if Dain is willing to lend his to help clear the rubble, we can see to it that you can begin your lives there,” he answered and looked to his cousin. Dain arched his eyebrow as he looked at Bard.

The dwarf tipped his chin up and narrowed his eyes in consideration before he nodded once. “Aye, that can be done but it will take time. I only offer the hands of my people to clear the city. Hire Men from the South to help with rebuilding and the materials you will need for it; they cannot all be found North-”

“And with what coin?” Bard interrupted, holding his free hand out helplessly. “Do you think we have any wealth? If any survived the dragon-fire, it will be at the bottom of the Lake-”

“Erebor will see it done,” Thorin stated firmly as he looked to the Man. Bard stared back with a line of tension in his brow; it didn’t appear as if he believed the king but he didn’t argue. Bilbo couldn’t really blame him. “Dale and Erebor once thrived together and I will see to it that they do again. The dragon-”

“I offer my aid in disposing of him,” Thranduil spoke as he looked to his left at the Man. Bard frowned at him but nodded his assent anyway. The hobbit knew Thorin had no choice but to pay for what they did to the people of Lake-town and he knew that _they_ had no choice but to accept any aid that they could get. However, he didn’t believe for a _moment_ that it was out of the kindness of the elf king’s heart that he offered it - dragon scales and jewels embedded in them seemed a more likely reason. “Dale, Erebor, _and_ the Greenwood once thrived together.” He turned his eyes to Thorin, who was grinding his teeth again; it seemed he suspected the same thing.

Bilbo could have cried. He didn’t know why he was bothering to throw himself into politics when it was filled with insults and petty underhandedness. Surely Thorin would get over him if he ran back to the Shire? Because he was thinking very seriously of doing that exact thing; how could he _possibly_ survive this nonsense? And bother it all, he would have to do so mainly with _dwarves_ once Thorin formed his Council! He was quite ready to be done with them but the stubborn fool next to him stole his heart and, well, he knew he wouldn’t actually be leaving him.

The meeting continued in much the same way and one thing became clear to him: the journey back to the Shire to retrieve his most precious belongings would be a _much_ needed holiday and none of the dwarves were invited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bet never would have flown over his head in this situation. RIP the Company. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm fairly certain chapter 11 will be our last oh man.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	10. Chapter 10

When the meeting concluded, Bilbo was exhausted and his pain had flared up with a vengeance. Thorin had it worse; he just happened to be better at hiding it. Bilbo could see it in small winces and the way his brow furrowed whenever he shifted and the hobbit was glad when the meeting was finally called to a close. Balin had three long parchments filled with notes but he didn’t appear weary at all and Bilbo would _not_ be jealous.

“You still live,” Thorin commented as they stood outside of the crimson tent their meeting had taken place in. He offered a smile when the hobbit side-eyed him. “Come, we both need rest for tomorrow. The day will be long and Oin will be with us for every moment of it; I will have one of your migraines by nightfall.” Bilbo snorted.

“And I’ll be right there alongside you with mine. I only survived because I said all of _three_ words,” he replied, swinging his gaze back and forth along the makeshift camp settled in Dale’s courtyard. “Do you know what, I think I need some fresh air after that. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Thorin, we have barely been outside but for a moment. Let me take a quick walk and I’ll join you soon enough!” He squinted as Thorin’s eyes grew stony but the king didn’t budge.

“Bilbo, I do not want you alone in this city of Men-”

The hobbit groaned loudly, lifting his hand to rake it along his face before he wrinkled his nose at the fool of a dwarf that was scowling at him. “Please, _please_ keep your paranoia to yourself just this once. I will be _fine._ Goodness gracious, Thorin, I can look after myself. I thought you might have realized that by now,” he scolded. “Go on, shoo! Go away, leave me be. If I am not back in let’s say, half an hour, feel free to send a search party after me.”

“Hobbit, half an hour is not a quick walk,” Thorin replied with no amusement. If he were a different hobbit, he might poke the king in his bad shoulder. At Bilbo’s glare, the dwarf sighed and looked skyward, muttering something in Khuzdul that was no doubt unsavory. “Stay within sight, Bilbo. If not for your safety among those that are here then for your injuries. I would not have anything happen to you.” He lifted his hand and rested it against the hobbit’s cheek even as he was was put on the receiving end of a flat stare.

Unfortunately it was ruined by Bilbo’s flush. Thorin apparently took no issue with showing affection in public and that was even more apparent when he pressed their foreheads together. Part of the hobbit’s manners were singing in mortification because Thorin hadn’t even gifted him with any flowers to show his intent - he remembered that wasn’t possible for the time being and shook himself. The dwarf pulled back from him and Bilbo rocked forward on his toes, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Right. Er, nothing will happen to me. I will do everything I can to not trip and die on my walk,” he said as evenly as he could but still managed a snort as Thorin’s lips thinned. “Go back to our wonderful tent and I will see you shortly. Yes? Yes, good. Good.” He leaned up and placed a kiss to the dwarf’s cheek before he turned on his heel and hurried down the cobbled stone surrounding the courtyard. Perhaps he was not being entirely truthful with Thorin but he felt it rather justified in this situation. He needed to find a haughty elf king - quickly.

The hobbit wandered close to where the elves had taken over their share of the courtyard and began to peer around for the tallest one of all; he had seen Thranduil come this way but he didn’t actually know where he had been staying since the day of the battle. The elves peered down at him with curiosity and suspicion both; he ignored them as well as he could.

“I thought you might seek me out,” a voice said from his right as he darted around an elf guard, startling him. Bilbo whirled around to see the king standing alone by a patch of dirt that had perhaps once held grass or flowers - it was surrounded by grey stone and he had seen a few of them littered around; the city of Dale had been beautiful once upon a time, he was sure. The elf king, however, was not at all beautiful as he smirked at the hobbit. “I believe we have not finished speaking about gems of starlight.”

Bilbo vehemently agreed with that statement, as unfortunate as it was, and followed Thranduil to find quiet so they could once again scheme against a dwarf king.

The elf led him to a tent that had its fabric entry pulled back and after ushering him inside, he unclasped the material from the supports, giving them the privacy they needed. If anyone not an elf spied Bilbo with Thranduil he knew his life would not go well for a time. He swept his eyes along a round table in the center of the room and over a distinctly elvish throne, far too fancy and grand, against the right side of their shelter; other tables were lined along the walls, some laden with wine and food, others with parchment and quills. The gleaming armor in the corner of the tent opposite him caught his eye and he huffed; so brilliantly shined that he could see himself in it. He glanced at the elf who had taken to staring down his nose at him.

“What?” Bilbo asked grumpily, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking forward. “A little superfluous, don’t you think?” As he watched the elf’s face morph into the one he wore through most of their dinner in Mirkwood, the hobbit snickered.

Thranduil swept to a table and filled a wine goblet; Bilbo tried not to chuckle more as he swallowed a healthy drink before facing him again, visibly steeling himself. “What are your thoughts on the matter?” he asked, moving to his throne and taking his place there. He certainly looked like a king but the hobbit was as unimpressed as he was with a dwarf king. “I did not think Thorin Oakenshield could ever find it in himself to be reasonable. Though I saved his life, I had no reason to believe he would thank me for it; offering my gems was a great show of gratitude.”

Bilbo sighed, raking his hands slowly down along his face, pressure gathering above the bridge of his nose. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? If only he had been reasonable anytime before now. I can’t tell him about the arrangement we came to, he’ll kill me! I thought that perhaps I could tell him I wished to thank you for saving his life and nabbed the necklace while I was capable of it. He might get a little upset about it but it seems our safest course of action,” he replied, walking in a slow circle as he did so. “Gandalf asked me the morning after if I might take possession of the hoard and I can, ah, say that I grabbed them then. Goodness gracious, this feels terrible, I hate lying to him. Maybe you can tag along with me while I explain it so he can’t yell at just me.” The elf _smirked_ again when he looked toward him and the hobbit rolled his eyes skyward.

“If that is what you wish for though it seems you already know what you mean to tell him. I do not believe the dwarf will be as wroth with you as you might think,” Thranduil commented as he crossed his legs and arched a thick eyebrow. He sounded _interested_ and Bilbo felt his heartbeat increase - bother it all, that was what he got for kissing the dwarf’s cheek in public! “Are you to stay in the Mountain at the king’s side?”

The hobbit felt his cheeks warm and turned away, beginning to inspect whatever surroundings were nearest to him. “Well. Yes. Though that is none of your business,” he commented with a sniff. He patted at his pockets and glanced toward the elf that was still watching him with curiosity. He hunched his shoulders. “Apparently his first shows of affection were yelling at me and I’ve only just- just- well, this is very new! Oh for- it doesn’t even matter, keep your nose in your own business; you’ll come with me and help me explain it?”

The elf sipped at his wine, then set the goblet aside and let out a sigh. “If you believe it will help. Shall we go now and put an end to it? Or do you need more time to think it through?” he asked, voice laced with sarcasm. Bilbo wrinkled his nose.

“I- I hadn’t thought to go now. But we are both in some pain and perhaps that is the best time to do it,” he commented, feeling truly rotten indeed. If Thorin knew he had made a deal, however, that _would_ anger him; perhaps Bilbo could tell him the truth after some time passed and it was not so fresh. Couldn’t get very angry then, could he? No indeed! The hobbit shook himself. “I am going to pay for this in some way, I can feel it in my feet. Yes, alright, let’s get it over with before he starts planning on when he might see them found.” He sighed to himself - he was already treating Thorin well, wasn’t he? But what else could he do for it?

Thranduil stood and moved to stand in front of him. “You are saving him from more pain than these last few days have already brought him,” he stated as his eyes slid to Bilbo’s left shoulder. “That is something you and he both need at present. I will aid you in explaining it to him and perhaps we can see him keep his head as well as he already has on this day.” His eyes lit with amusement as the hobbit scowled.

He waggled his finger. “There was absolutely no need for that! How are you to be allies if you keep provoking him? It is not the _least_ bit funny, you know, not to the rest of us. Goodness gracious me, I hope to never see you two meet again, even if it means I have to be the mediator from now on,” he returned, shaking his head in annoyance. “You both are still like _children.”_ He turned on his heel and stomped to the doorway, pushing aside the fabric with more vigor than he meant to; it nearly pushed back.

The elf king followed him outside and when Bilbo looked at him, he arched his eyebrows expectantly and with a hefty dose of mockery. The hobbit grumbled and began to walk, scooting out of the way whenever one of the Big Folk bustled by him; it was not long before they began to see dwarves milling about. In the middle of praying that they did not run into a member of the Company, he unfortunately spied Kili leaning against a few crates of apples; he was entirely surprised when the dwarf didn’t even look their way. Bilbo noticed a red-haired elf standing near him and with the way the dwarf was smiling at her, he strongly suspected flirtation and began to pray Thorin never found out about that either. Eru save them all _._

He attempted to steel himself as they walked through the sprawling courtyard but his growing unease and the pain in his shoulders made it difficult; he was going to die, he was sure of it. The hobbit laid eyes upon their familiar green tent and glanced sidelong at the elf at his side, who appeared apathetic, and he felt envious for it. Bilbo sighed as they reached the entry and stepped inside without pause, his eyes finding Thorin and Oin at the table on the opposite side of the tent; the healer had gotten their horrid medicine together and seemed to simply be conversing with the king.

Oin’s eyes caught over Thorin’s shoulder and he arched his eyebrows at the hobbit - at the elf that followed him inside. Thorin turned and when his eyes fell on Thranduil, they immediately hardened and he looked to Bilbo with an exact question written on his face. Well. He’d hear soon enough, wouldn’t he? The hobbit coughed into his fist as he stepped closer toward their sickbeds, motioning at himself and the elf king.

“Um, Thorin. Can we have a few moments, please?” he asked as evenly as he could manage. The dwarf’s eyes narrowed and Oin next to him cleared his throat, mumbled an excuse, and all but fled out of the tent. Bilbo scratched his head as he turned to watch him go before he swung back around to look between two kings.

“What is going on?” Thorin demanded with no small amount of suspicion. “Why have you brought this elf here? I have already spoken my peace with him.”

“He is standing in front of you,” Thranduil intoned. Bilbo only barely stopped himself from kicking him in the shin. “Master Baggins and I are here to speak with you on the gems that you have promised to return to me.” He slid his icy blue eyes to the hobbit and motioned with his hand for him to speak his part, which was not at all what he wished to do but he would not be a coward.

Bilbo swallowed as he watched Thorin peter on the edge of his patience. “I, ah- right- that’s right. Right. Oh goodness,” he mumbled to himself, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead in his distress. He stepped closer to the dwarf and sighed in resignation. “Thorin, he is already in possession of the necklace. Has been for a couple days now, actually. I- well, I gave it to him on the night of the battle.” He clasped his hands together and wrung them as the king’s eyebrows arched at his words.

Thorin stared at him, his spine slowly straightening - indeed, anger was already swimming in his eyes. “You did what?” he questioned in a low tone as he stepped closer to the hobbit. “You went into Erebor’s treasury to retrieve the necklace for him? And you did not tell me this? Bilbo-”

“He has come here to explain this. Allow him to before you let your anger take you,” Thranduil interrupted the dwarf. He had seen just as well as Bilbo had that Thorin was already going to start a furious tirade. “His heart was-”

“We made a deal,” Bilbo blurted, inhaling sharply immediately after. He raised his hands to clutch at his chest in his own shock as he watched the king’s eyes widen. “Er, in Mirkwood. I, ah, I promised him I would give him the necklace if he let us go. And he did, obviously. I- I told him that because I knew we would sit there and likely miss our chance to get into Erebor if we did it your way. It was the only thing that was going to give us time to even get _prepared_ for Erebor. S-So when the battle was over, we spoke and, ah, you see, as a dragon I can locate treasure rather easily. I wished to keep my promise and so I went into Erebor and grabbed that necklace for him, didn’t think for a moment you’d promise to do it as well. And so that is the reason why we’re here. To explain, ah, that to you.”

Thorin’s eyes only seemed to grow more stormy with each word he spoke and Bilbo wondered if he knew he was gripping his outer tunic rather fiercely where his hand sat from the sling. He simply continued to _stare_ at him and the hobbit cleared his throat, still fitfully wringing his own hands together.

“Indeed. That is what we have come to explain,” Thranduil stated with dryness only the hobbit could hear. He refused to look at the elf. “Master Baggins saw sense when he was in my home and I felt I could trust his word; we came to an agreement. Those gems belong with elves: they did not belong abandoned in a vast dwarven treasury. The hobbit recognized that from my own words and he was right to make a deal with me; he kept his word and has shown a true heart for it. When we spoke in my kingdom, Thorin Oakenshield, his motivation was only to aid you on your Quest. And as far as I can see, that is the only thing he has done: _aid_ you. You did not lose anything from our arrangement and if you now think there a loss of trust, you are a fool. He chose this path with the hope that you would see a crown on your head. Will you not tomorrow evening?”

Bilbo pursed his lips and rocked forward on his toes. Though his words were true, they still left the elf king’s mouth and he doubted Thorin’s ability to get past that alone. The dwarf slid his eyes between them before he moved his hand up and pressed his fingers against his brow, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He was painfully silent and it was a good long moment before he dropped his hand and glared at Thranduil.

“Leave us,” he ordered in a growl that sent a cold trickle of dread down the hobbit’s spine. “I have heard your side in this. Now leave us.” Thorin looked at Bilbo and his ever familiar mask slipped into place, making him unreadable even to the hobbit. It must have been a talent of royalty, Bilbo suspected, as he glanced up at the elf and noted his own impassive expression.

Thranduil stared down at him and only gave a slight, questioning quirk of his eyebrow. Right. Well. Despite it being the only time Bilbo was genuinely frightened of what the dwarf might say, he still knew he didn’t need any help; he shook his head in response. The elf inclined his own and spared one more glance toward Thorin; he turned on his heel and strode from the tent, leaving them alone and Bilbo patted at his breast pocket, a light hum of distress leaving his throat. His heart had grown soft in the Shire: he could not lie to the king about the blasted necklace and he cursed himself for it.

The moment Thranduil stepped out, Thorin heaved a sigh and turned away, moving to his cot. He sank down onto it and rested his elbow on his knee so he could press his forehead into his hand. Bilbo watched him warily as he moved forward and sat down on his own sickbed - they had been separated hours before to make wrapping new bandages around Thorin’s shoulder easier. The hobbit was warring with his desire to apologize though he didn’t regret his actions for a moment and the worry of what was going through the king’s head. Everything that had happened when it came to treasure had only just occurred within the last week, including the illness that had plagued the dwarf. Bilbo didn’t smell it on him but he found himself concerned for it either way.

Thorin pinched at the bridge of his nose before he lifted his eyes and looked to the hobbit. “Would you have spoken to me on this if I had not made the promise today?” he asked with some hoarseness from his anger. “Were you going to tell me that you had done it?”

Bilbo felt his nose twitch. “When I first spoke with Thranduil, no, of course not. I didn’t think I would, um, be asked to stay in Erebor and thought I’d be well away from here when you noticed that necklace was gone. And I likely would have waited a long while, but yes, I believe I would have told you eventually,” he answered, tapping his fingers against his thighs. “You’ve given me a bit of a shock, to be honest, in promising him the necklace.”

“You are not the only one to receive a shock. I wished not to be in his debt and that was a way in which I could repay it,” Thorin replied as he frowned at the hobbit, holding his hand out in what seemed like frustration. “Bilbo, you stole from me and yet I see why. I wish to be angry with you but you have left me with little reason to be beyond pride and I know where that will lead me with you. It is already done and I cannot change that; I do not want to. You- hobbit-”

The dwarf cut himself off and stood from his sickbed, Khuzdul leaving his throat in a low growl; Bilbo recognized some words and knew they were curses. He cleared his throat as he watched him pace - Thorin determinedly did not look back at him. His hand was clenched into a white-knuckled grip at his side and his eyes certainly held the anger the hobbit supposedly left him with little reason to have.

 _“Bilbo,”_ Thorin finally said as he turned to him and the hobbit started at the desperation in his voice. “How am I to be angry at you when the elf’s words ring true? I will be crowned on the morrow and you will be at my side. I have told you that you are the only reason I am here and it is still true; it has not even been a week from when I told you that I know you have only gone out of your way to help by taking the Arkenstone. _This_ is not the way I wish you had helped but it cannot erase what you have already done for us. You have been infallible in your desire to see our Quest fulfilled; despite how I feel thinking of you speaking with that elf in such a way, I cannot be angry for it and it is maddening. Why must you insist on doing this to me?”

The hobbit blinked at him. “Well- I should- are- are you upset that you can’t be upset at me?” he asked, pursing his lips so he wouldn’t snort as Thorin irritably gestured an affirmative at him. “Thorin, I am sorry that I had to hide anything from you but you left me very little choice, you know. We _are_ back in the blasted Arkenstone situation: I did what I did to help you, yes, even though it meant a _perceived_ theft. Though that necklace wasn’t _yours_ to begin with.”

The king sent him a flat look. “It was still not your right though I know you meant only to keep your word. I wish that you had discussed this with me days ago. It does not sit well with me, Bilbo, to know that you have so easily gone behind my back and kept the truth from me. But what does it matter? We now have Erebor and he already has his jewels though I am still in his debt-”

“Er, no, you’re not,” Bilbo interrupted, raising his eyebrows at the dwarf’s immediate, suspicious gaze. _“Thorin._ If _he_ keeps to his word, he’s already said we’ve now both paid our debts to him. You can continue to have nothing to do with each other and I hope that lasts for a good long while. I am sorry to have been dishonest with you but if either of you were not so stubborn it never would have had to happen! You threw us into a stalemate.” Thorin’s lips thinned.

“I would not have changed my mind,” he stated firmly before his eyes slid skyward as the hobbit groaned. “I was not going to barter for our lives with him and I still would not; he should not have kept us as _prisoners._ He came to our aid in a time of need and I will look past that because of it.” He walked to the table that held two glasses and took his own, swallowing down the foul liquid; Bilbo suspected he wanted to nap to forget the problem for a while - proper hobbit fashion.

Bilbo would not say that it was his own fault they were kept prisoners. “He also volunteered to save your arse. Which he did,” he mumbled, squinting as Thorin side-eyed him. “Is it safe to say that you and I are alright?” The dwarf brought him his own glass and he took it, holding it in his hand as he watched the king sit back down on his sickbed. The hobbit would simply have to live with the moody scowl for a time.

“Have you taken anything else from Erebor?” Thorin asked drily as he arched his eyebrows in that mocking way of his. “If you are not keeping any other matter from me, I would see us as we have been these last few days.”

Bilbo looked up toward the top of the tent and counted two fingers. “Hmm, let’s see… _no,_ I am not keeping anything else from you,” he replied sarcastically as he shot a quick glare at the dwarf. “Unless there’s another ridiculous glowing white gem that inspires war lying about, I don’t think I will ever have reason to keep anything else from you again.” He swallowed down his own medicine and set the glass on the ground, lying back on his pillows to ease the pressure his shoulders were steadily building.

Thorin sighed as he maneuvered himself down onto his own cot. “Then let us think no more of that necklace,” he commented, his tone growing weary. When the hobbit glanced at him, however, he was staring back with an odd hesitation in his eyes, his heavy brow turned down. “And though I know of the harm it has caused, I wish to know what has become of the Arkenstone. I will be questioned about it when evening comes tomorrow. Gandalf asked what I would see done with it and I could not say. Do you know if the wizard is still in possession of it?”

 _Blast it all._ Bilbo slowly reached his hands up, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Of course Thorin wanted to know and he couldn’t _really_ blame him for it but why couldn’t he have asked _later?_ “No, Gandalf no longer has the stone,” he mumbled with a sigh, glancing sidelong at the king. “Thorin, ah… the Arkenstone is gone and none will see it again. It- it seemed the proper thing to do. You can tell anyone that asks that it was lost to Smaug, if you’d like, but-”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted as his eyes softened. “The Arkenstone has only caused pain and ruin. It clouded my mind and I attempted to hurt you for it; I am glad to see it gone. I do not think the risk would be worth it to see it in Erebor again and when Dain asks of its fate, I will tell him it was lost to the dragon. I think that you know what has truly happened to it and I must thank you for it.”

The hobbit flapped his hand at him. “No, you don’t have to. It simply needed to be done but I am glad you’re alright with it,” he replied sincerely. Thorin would not know that it _had_ been lost to a dragon as Bilbo felt he didn’t actually want to know its exact fate. “Though we’ve both earned some scars out of it, I do believe our Quest has finally come to an end and we’ve seen to everything we had planned to, in the end. With all that had gone wrong, I was beginning to doubt our chances of surviving this, honestly. I will have to see Beorn on my way to the Shire so I can inform him that we have.”

Thorin chuckled. “We could not have failed with you alongside us, Bilbo,” he stated, receiving a huff for his troubles. He smiled at the hobbit as the warmth from their previous few days filled his eyes. “I would return to the Shire with you, if you allow it. When the Mountain is established and my people fill it again, I will be able to come with you, though that may not be until late summer. I would not see you go only with a guard.”

“So you would force a guard on me even if you couldn’t come along?” Bilbo asked in return, arching his eyebrows expectantly. Thorin’s face slipped back into such a stern expression that it sent the hobbit into snickers. “I was planning on asking Gandalf to turn me back so I can fly there. Then I can carry my whole smial back, wouldn’t need one dwarf’s help, and you wouldn’t have to set that nephew of yours on the throne for months. Do you know what, that sounds like a wonderful idea, I will do just that.” He nodded decisively as he snuggled back into his pillows and clasped his hands together on his belly.

There was a long enough moment of silence that Bilbo glanced back to Thorin, who appeared entirely unimpressed. “I cannot tell if you are joking or not but you will not travel across Middle Earth as a dragon,” he stated firmly, squinting as he was laughed at. “Hobbit-”

“Dwarf,” Bilbo interrupted fondly, waving his hand toward the king. “Shush. Get some rest, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.” He tugged his blankets closer to his chest as he yawned in an exaggerated manner. “And, just so you know, I’ll do what I bloody well want.”

Thorin heaved a sigh and rustled around in his own blankets - he didn’t bother speaking Khuzdul as he mumbled none-too-flattering things about his hobbit.

——

Their day was spent resting until afternoon tea; Thorin was comfortable enough to be able to sit with Balin and review what they had gone over in their morning meeting - plans to move to the Mountain followed. Bilbo puttered around outside with members of the Company as they spoke for some hours and felt his unease increase with each passing one. Their return to Erebor planned for midday on the morrow meant he had little time to do what he had been wishing to do for some days now.

He had to retrieve his ring. Once they were settled in the Mountain, it would be difficult to get all the way to the Long Lake without being seen; the flurry of activity in Dale was at least a good enough mask for an effort. There was still the matter of the Long Lake being some miles away and that he could not travel the distance on foot, not while he was injured. As he wandered the courtyard with friends, Bilbo kept an eye out for a way in which he could leave Dale in the middle of the night without being noticed: he found one.

Ponies. They were kept in a few different pens through the city, along with horses, and he would simply have to nab one of them. The guards in charge of them were hardly strict about it; who would steal a pony when there was nowhere to go with it? Thranduil and Bard were to go to Lake-town to dispose of Smaug throughout the day tomorrow before they would enter Erebor to see Thorin officially crowned king; he could not risk an attempt while they were so close, either. The hobbit camped out near the gates and observed shift changes as well as he could; it took less than ten minutes in the two that he saw occur. He would have a short window in which to leave but he found himself not all that concerned about it going wrong - he was light on his feet and was sure he could come up with plenty of excuses if he were to be caught.

And so Bilbo went throughout the rest of his day, impatient but hiding it as well as he could, until night finally fell and with it, Thorin’s energy. After supper and discussing with the hobbit what to expect when he was crowned, Oin ambled into their tent to fix up their medicine; the hobbit thanked Eru that he trusted them enough to take it on their own and let them be after leaving their glasses. Thorin took his without complaint and Bilbo disposed of his own in the bowls that had held their supper stew when the dwarf was not looking; he volunteered to take them to be cleaned and Thorin seemed content enough to let him leave the tent without thinking he would surely be murdered. When the hobbit returned, he kissed the dwarf soundly and the king fell off not long after Bilbo left him a puddle on his cot and laid on his own to wait.

When the camp grew quiet and he watched the rise and fall of Thorin’s chest to ensure he was sleeping deeply, the hobbit left the tent. By his estimates, the shift change at the gates would be taking place in roughly an hour. In the dark and with the majority of those awake being Men, creeping along and remaining unseen proved to be a simple task; he tried not to feel smug about it as he was already an accomplished burglar. He made his way to the largest pen of animals and was surprised (and worried) by his luck: no guards were around. Perhaps they did not bother at night - he would take it and hope that his luck would last him all the way until _returning_ the pony. The hobbit slipped into the pen and retrieved a saddle, choosing a bay pony of calm temperament, saddling her without any issue as he’d come to learn how to throughout their Quest. Reins were in hand as he led her from the pen and secured it behind himself.

The pen was far enough away from the activity of the camp to keep the animals at ease and Bilbo, taking much care, led the pony through quiet streets. After getting turned around once, the hobbit arrived at the gates, hiding behind a half-destroyed post; the guards occupied the opposite side. Bilbo found himself both amused and annoyed - those very same guards were lounging on the city’s side of the ruined gates, where they would surely not see anything coming, and chattering animatedly. Bilbo pet his pony whenever she snorted and wished he had the forethought to grab apples or carrots to keep her busy while he waited but after observing the Men, he thought it didn’t really matter. He informed the pony that after a battle with orcs, one might think they’d be a bit more concerned about their surroundings and she seemed to agree.

It was twenty minutes before the shift change began; the Men rose to their feet with complaints and were off before anyone could replace them, as Bilbo had watch happen twice already that day. He took his pony to the gates, swiveling his head back and forth as he did so, ensuring there were no others around. The ponies hooves clobbered loudly against stone and he was glad when they left the city and the earth below muffled her steps. No others were posted outside and the camp below, filled with dwarves, was far enough off to not see them wander along Dale’s shadowed walls. The hobbit led the pony onto the worn path that led steadily up and would wind its way to the overlook before sloping down toward the burnt remains of Lake-town; it would take at least two hours, he was sure, and when he felt it safe enough to clamber onto the saddle, relief filled him.

Going uphill was with care and Bilbo didn’t allow the pony to exert herself more than was necessary; not until they reached the overlook. There he set her into a trot and ignored the growing discomfort in his shoulders, though certainly lessened from the previous days; he would forego any reprieve until morning but he knew when he held his ring in hand, he would not mind. It was worth pain.

As much as he tried to guide the pony, she still stumbled over rock here and there in the low light; the moon was a waning crescent that night and while it provided more protection from him, she struggled with it. The path was covered with stone from a lack of use and delayed their descent to the Long Lake; he pushed her with whispered encouragements until they were but a mile from the Northern shores. He slipped from the saddle then and led her the rest of the way by her reins; when the hobbit began to hear the flux of the waters licking the shores, Bilbo found a boulder and secured the pony to it, promising her he wouldn’t be long.

He hiked to the edge of the Lake and fixed his eyes on a pile of dried earth and stone some distance East of it; it was there. Not only did he know exactly where he had dropped it but he could _feel_ it too; he could smell the gold and felt the Pull. Bilbo hurried the closer he got and when he finally arrived at the broken apart chunks of earth he had once carried in a paw, he knelt down and immediately began to dig into it. The lap of water became distant to him and soon the only sound he could hear was his heartbeat echoing in his ears, unbridled and inflamed.

Bilbo pushed aside a rock the size of his fist and moved his hand with the intent of digging further into the ground before he abruptly froze. His fingers hovered over cool soil and he felt his blood thrum with excitement as he stared down at it; it was _there,_ just under the surface. With a trembling sigh, the hobbit gently brushed dirt away until he felt cold metal beneath his fingertips and used his thumb to trace the outline of his ring, watching with some reverence as the gold began to glint in the pale moonlight.

“There you are,” Bilbo murmured with a smile as he slumped in relief, not having realized how tense his shoulders had grown. He gently picked the ring up and held it in his palm, blowing some dirt away; he rotated it back and forth and felt warmth fill him, chasing away the winter night - the hobbit felt the ring might have been as glad to see him as he was it. When the rippling of water hit his ears again, he stood and moved to the shore, bending down to wash dirt from gold. He dried it on his shirt when he was done and lifted the ring toward the sky, watching the whites and blues of night bounce off it; it was as beautiful as ever.

A breeze picked up and carried with it the stench of rotting flesh but Bilbo didn’t pay it any mind; it was Smaug, he knew, but he didn’t even care to spare a glance in his kin’s direction. He chuckled as he glanced back and forth, though he knew no one lurked near, before slipping the ring onto his finger. The familiar world, sharp and fuzzy all at once, fell around him and he lifted his hand, pressing his lips against the cool metal. He clamped his eyes shut tight and willed his heart to stop rabbiting in his chest.

“It is good to have you back. I won’t be leaving you behind again, I can promise you that,” he informed the ring as he looked back down at it. He smiled and gave it another quick kiss before making his way back to the pony, removing the ring again - it wasn’t wise to linger about longer than necessary. At least he could be hidden now, when he wandered back through Dale and slipped inside of the medical tent for what he hoped was the last time. He was as eager to be in Erebor as any other.

The trip back to the overlook and down to Dale seemed to go by much quicker than it had the opposite way; the city and its sporadic lights flickered into view and grew in size before he knew it. The moon was still high in the sky and dawn was hours away - he had made good time. Bilbo reached the walls and slid from his pony to lead her again to the gates, though it was with more apprehension that he approached; he could not see the guards from outside the city and had to go by his ears alone. He kept the pony as quiet as he could as he listened to rumbles of Men - time enough passed that he became concerned but after nearly an hour of waiting, one Man left to find a toilet while the other ventured into the post.

Bilbo wasted no time in sneaking inside of the city, light on his own feet, and winced every time the pony’s hooves clicked against stone. Hardly believing his luck and fully expecting something absolutely terrible to happen as it always had on their Quest, the hobbit rushed through the quiet city and back to the pen; it was still unguarded. He led the bay pony that had done so well for him back into her pen, unsaddled her while promising a few apples when morning came, slipped on his ring, and fled back to the courtyard. His heart was fit to burst when he finally saw the familiar tent, nearly black in the low light, and he paused outside of the fabric entryway to listen for any movement inside; none. There was no flurry of activity, no one looking for a missing hobbit, and he knew Thorin still remained fast asleep.

The hobbit slipped inside, peered toward the king’s cot and let out a sigh of relief, stumbling forward and pulling the ring from his finger. He pocketed it and came to a stop near the foot of Thorin’s sickbed, watching his dwarf breath evenly still, lovely in his sleep; dark hair was draped over light-colored pillows and Bilbo took a moment to wonder why, of _all_ on this good earth, the king had chosen _him._ He was too much for one hobbit and yet the dwarf was besotted with him - Bilbo’s heart was just as much Thorin’s and he knew it would remain that way for the rest of his long life. The stubborn fool had likely had it from the moment he stepped into his smial and the hobbit wished to kick him in the shin for it; in all his life, he had never felt so vulnerable.

Bilbo shook his head as he stepped closer, sinking down onto the edge of the king’s sickbed, lifting his hand to brush through silky soft hair. The dwarf sighed in his sleep and the hobbit smiled, leaning down to a press a kiss to his brow; Thorin shifted for it and Bilbo tugged his head back, watching as blue eyes, unfocused, cracked open. The king eventually found him and his brow turned down in a familiar frown; his eyes were still heavy with exhaustion, some medicinally induced and some not.

“Bilbo?” Thorin questioned thickly, lifting his left hand to lay on the hobbit’s thigh. “Are you well? What is wrong?” Bilbo chuckled at his worry and shook his head to ease it.

“Do you know what? Not a thing,” he replied, sliding closer and pressing his lips to the dwarf’s. He shared a languid kiss with the king and felt a warm paw cup the side of his head as Thorin gladly reciprocated. The dwarf was much more aware when the hobbit tugged back to look down at him and offered such a grin that Bilbo began to laugh. “Ridiculous creature. I have never met such a fool in all my life, Thorin Oakenshield, and I don’t know why I bother with you.”

The king’s chuckle was low and filled with something the hobbit was certain wouldn’t be a good idea to explore. “Do I remain such a fool to you, my hobbit?” he asked. “You have been calling me a fool from the night we met until now. What must I do to change this?” His hand encircled Bilbo’s hip and the hobbit let himself be tugged closer even as he frowned in mock bemusement.

“Become a different dwarf, more than likely,” he answered, snorting when the king’s lips thinned. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you established your foolishness a long time ago and do you know what? The day I grow wings again is the day that’ll see an end.” He pressed his lips to the king’s brow but when he made to pull from him, he found himself held in a vice-like grip. He arched his eyebrows expectantly before feeling his heart rate increase at the _look_ he was leveled with. Blown open pupils didn’t help, Bilbo found. He swallowed.

“I am not such a fool in all things,” Thorin murmured and before Bilbo could possibly think of answering, he was yanked down for a kiss that sent his head spinning. And despite their injured and pained states, they did not part for some time. When Bilbo once more attempted to force himself back into his own cot, flushed cheeks and swollen lips on a dwarf king put a halt to those thoughts. And if he stayed at Thorin’s side until the sun crept into the sky, well, that was no one’s business but theirs.

——

By midday, Dale was chaotic - dwarves were to enter Erebor and the majority of elves were to leave for their Forest dwelling. Thranduil was to aid Bard in the disposal of Smaug but both would enter the Mountain at dusk for the ceremony; Gandalf would crown Thorin as King Under the Mountain and new life would begin. The road ahead would be long and filled with some uncertainty but letters had been written to the Blue Mountains; soon, many of the dwarves who had once made the Lonely Mountain their home would come to do so again.

Bilbo couldn’t begin to imagine what that meant to most though he _had_ been a part of the Quest and would stand by the side of the dwarf that had seen it come to be. He had never lost his home, not in such a way; he had never longed for anything the way the king had. And even though he would never know what it might feel like to reclaim a long lost home, the hobbit had never been more proud to be a part of something in his life; he knew that he would come to love Erebor simply because of Thorin Oakenshield. It didn’t mean that it came without fear, however.

His nerves were frayed from the moment they left Dale and traveled to the Mountain. It did not seem like his heart would ever stop thundering in his chest, especially so when he laid eyes upon the Gallery of the Kings. A golden Hall, grand and magnificent; he felt he might have been the only one uncomfortable in the place the dragon once stood and he looked upon flames gathering in a scaled chest - flames that had meant to burn him. It was eerie but he would not voice his complaints - he would not take away from such a day.

A raised platform of stone, with stairs carved to near perfection in only a short few days, had been erected in the gaping hole that Smaug had created on the opposite side of the Hall. All would stand on gold as they watched a heavy crown be placed upon Thorin’s head and Bilbo had to force himself to move past what might have been irrational concern; the illness that had plagued the dwarf would not return if he could help it but he would have preferred for all of them to be far from the Gallery. Far from _gold._ He knew that in time, he would never venture there again, not unless he had no choice; there were chambers through the Mountain designated for ceremonies and Councils. Of course he had a hard time imagining himself occupying any of _those,_ either, but they would hold no significance to him. Not yet.

Both he and Thorin were in quite a lot of pain by dusk but the hobbit was set to fitfully fretting over the dwarf when the discomfort he felt became more evident with the removal of his sling. He could hardly make a cutting figure not dressed in ridiculous royal garb and with a sling, according to Fili and Kili. Considering the very audience that would fill the Hall were those that had fought alongside Thorin, Bilbo thought that line of thought balderdash but the dwarves only stared at him with pity in their eyes when he voiced his concerns. After telling them where they could stick their nonsense, the hobbit kept his mouth shut and simply listened to the buzzing of an ever-growing audience from the antechamber he and the Company had taken place in. It had been explained to him that Dain and any nobles with him would stand to the left of the platform while Thranduil would be to the right, accompanied by Bard; the king would be announced, the ceremony would be ‘rather short’ and a feast would follow.

Bilbo was more than ready for bed by the time he stood so very awkwardly beside the princes of Erebor and watched a crown adorn the head of a proud dwarf. Eyes were mostly locked on Thorin but he didn’t miss furtive glances his own way - he didn’t miss some of the suspicious variety either. The hobbit was torn between understanding and annoyance as none would be standing where they were without him; he knew that he would have to prove himself over time, despite being a member of Thorin’s Company. Even when the king would announce him ‘friend to dwarves’ and, as promised, would ensure his people knew his deeds, Bilbo wasn’t naive enough to think he would simply be trusted.

As the hobbit thought about fleeing to the Shire once more, the ceremony ended and a celebratory feast began; the mood in Erebor lightened considerably and music filled the Gallery. He attempted to stick with who he knew best and wasn’t quite sure how he had been swept away from Bofur to join Thranduil and other fair elves that looked at him as if he were a particularly interesting ferret. It wasn’t until he gave a proper scolding and the elf king spoke his praises (with heavy airs of mockery) that he could finally hold decent conversations with the Woodland elves. He spoke Sindarin with smugness until Thorin loomed at his side, glowered at Thranduil, and dragged the hobbit away; he explained that he was missed but Bilbo knew better and with a long-suffering sigh, accepted what would be his relationship as a mediator between two kings.

The moon was high in the night sky when Thorin was ordered to bed by Oin and Bilbo happily scampered along to join him in the royal quarters, though the walk there was absurdly lengthy. The Royal Hall had been untouched by Smaug but time had devastated it - the Company had helped to prepare the Hall over the last few days and Bilbo was dismayed at the expansive and entirely excessive rooms he would live the rest of his blasted life in. It was only after Thorin had shown him their own small, personal library that he was mollified; ignoring the king’s teasing, Bilbo helped him undress and they were soon medicated, falling into a bed large enough for four. Thorin kissed him, murmured that he loved him, and their first night in Erebor was done.

Their first _week_ was filled with numerous contracts, small Council meetings, and the overseeing of the restoration of Erebor. Thorin’s stitches were removed a day shy of two weeks after receiving them and his work on regaining strength in his arm began. Numbness took over now and then and only in time would they know the extent of nerve damage; there was short-lived grief in the privacy of their rooms from the dwarf before Thorin announced he would train his left arm if he could not find the prowess he was used to in his right, much to the hobbit’s exasperation. He would see to it that they would never have _reason_ to fight any battles again!

Bilbo thought that he should have expected Thorin to take him to bed the moment his stitches were removed and didn’t know why it took him by surprise when he did. It seemed to be the reason the king began to treat him like a blushing maiden but the hobbit put a swift end to that, thank you _very_ much; it was only mildly insulting that Thorin was taken aback that he had any experience at all. Bilbo gladly showed him otherwise but when he sat astride his thighs and felt the dwarf in him, it _was_ something entirely new; he had never been in love and watching hooded blue eyes stare into his with reverence, the hobbit wondered why he had ever fooled himself into thinking he could leave Thorin’s side.

Life in Erebor went on.

——

It took two months for large caravans to begin arriving at the Mountain but it quickly flared with life then; families filled Erebor for the first time in well over a century. Employment in all crafts began in earnest and with it, trade between Dale and Mirkwood bloomed. Wares filled Markets and Erebor began to move like a well-oiled machine; mines were opened and forges burned hot. Dwarf nobles began to arrive in droves and the Mountain’s Council was set into stone - Bilbo found work there, as much as it might have terrified him to start; shockingly the dwarves were not that well-versed in agriculture and he found his stride. He still had to work alongside _dwarves,_ however, and it took a good long while for him to stop despairing over that fact; even with practice with the most stubborn fool he had met in all his life!

Another month and a half passed by before the caravan the Company had been eagerly awaiting would arrive; the king’s sister, Dis, and many families of others would be with it. Dis had quite a lot of work in the Blue Mountains when she received word of Thorin’s success with Erebor and her arrival was delayed because of it. The day had finally come, however, and Bilbo thought he might be driven mad by his own nerves and that of the line of Durin’s, as well. Fili and Kili had missed their mother dearly and were a bothersome mess when they received word she would arrive that very day; Thorin was nearly as terrible and the hobbit felt he would surely die by the time he met the infamous dwarrowdam.

Few had intimidated him in his life but after hearing so many stories of the Lady Dis, he was utterly terrified.

It had stopped snowing nearly a week before and though the ground was still mostly frozen, a caravan from Mirkwood to Erebor was quick to arrive. When it was spotted West of Dale, the Mountain itself was sent into a frenzied state and Bilbo did all he could to hold on. A large dwarven guard was sent at once to meet the caravan while friends and families were informed; they began to gather at the newly carved limestone gates. The impressive towering green-tinged gates were opened wide and sunlight drifted into Erebor, riding along a cold, crisp air; the hobbit was entirely pleased with it. He was able to hike occasionally but it would never be the same as living outside the Mountain; after the last few months, however, he was ready for the journey to the Shire. It was to be planned once Dis reached Erebor and he was prepared to thank her for it.

Bilbo stood at Thorin’s side in the Hall when the caravan made its last approach. The dwarf was in his finest furs and the crown that pained the hobbit’s neck just to look upon was firmly in place; he looked every bit the king he was if Bilbo pretended he didn’t see the nerves written all over his face. When he watched Thorin fuss at his cuff for what felt like the thousandth time, the hobbit snatched his hand up and arched his eyebrows.

“Thorin,” he said, catching the king’s attention, “please, for the sake of us all, calm _down._ I beg you, please, you are making me more nervous than I am sure I need to be! Goodness gracious me, she is your sister-”

“Dis is not the only one to arrive at the Mountain today, Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted with some heat, squinting at the hobbit as if it were his fault. “Most of my people are at her side and following. The dwarves of Erebor are returning home and I am eager to see it done. I am calm enough for it.” He attempted to tug his arm back but Bilbo was steadfastly holding onto him, shaking his head and waggling the forefinger on his free hand.

“You’re going to tear it if you keep tugging,” he admonished, turning the king’s wrist over so he could tuck the end of his tunic back into a proper cuff. Thorin had been picking at the smallest stitch in his own anxiousness that he had begun to loosen it, much to Bilbo’s continued annoyance; if he had a pair of fabric scissors, he might have tried to fix it before the dwarf unraveled his entire sleeve. “For Eru’s _sake,_ leave it alone. You are driving me mad; fauntlings are better than this.” He huffed, brushing invisible lint off of the fur-lined coat near Thorin’s shoulder, ignoring the flat stare he was receiving.

The dwarf sighed as he took Bilbo’s hand and interlocked their fingers, holding _him_ steady, even if the hobbit didn’t want to admit it. “I am not the sole reason for your own nerves,” Thorin grumped at him, earning a huff for his troubles. The king lifted his hand and placed a kiss to his knuckles. “I hope that the day is not a long one though we have much work to do.”

Bilbo tugged his hand back so he could slip his arm underneath the coat his intended was wearing and lock it around his waist. “It will likely fly by because of that very reason. At least it best - if not, Eru save us all from you,” he muttered, leaning into Thorin’s side and gazing through the gates. The dwarf muttered at him even as he dropped a heavy arm across the hobbit’s shoulders and leaned down to nose into his hair; something he seemed entirely taken with, much to Bilbo’s occasional exasperation. It was not always easy to work in their rooms when his own hair seemed to be a distraction - he was fond of it otherwise.

When Thorin began to twist the fur of his coat with his left hand, Bilbo looked skyward before he lifted his own hand and yanked at one of the king’s braids. Thorin hissed and turned churning eyes on him so the hobbit pressed his fingertips under a bristly chin, pulled the dwarf down as he leaned up, and captured his lips. Any annoyances he had melted away and Thorin, as always, was perfectly content to slide his lips against Bilbo’s; if he thought it a purposeful distraction, he didn’t protest it.

“Do you two ever stop? Mahal, I’m not sure if it’s going to get better or worse when you’re finally married,” a voice moaned in despair from Thorin’s left. They broke apart to squint at Kili, who was peering at them over his brother’s head with a frown of disapproval. The king’s nephews were at his side, as was their place. “Honestly, we’re waiting for Mum and surrounded by half the Mountain, no one needs to witness this. I see it enough at dinner.”

“I am keeping myself preoccupied while awaiting your mother,” Thorin returned with some smugness that caused Bilbo to duck his head and hide his snort. “As the caravan will not arrive for another fifteen minutes. You do not have to stare.”

Kili scoffed. “I’m not staring,” he retorted indignantly, his brother snickering at his side. Kili scowled between them before he grumbled and turned away, staring in the direction the caravan would be approaching. “It’s distracting and I’m a young, impressionable mind. Who knows what sort of ideas I’ll get into my head? It’s best to just not risk it.”

Fili snorted. “Think you’ve already gotten there _and_ acted on your own,” he muttered, grunting immediately after as Kili punched him in the arm. The brunet began to hiss at his brother and Fili hissed back; Bilbo had a niggling in the back of his mind as to why Kili might have gotten a tad defensive but when he glanced sidelong at Thorin, he was glad to see the king simply looked confused. He frowned between his nephews and the blond caught his eye, throwing on a winning grin. “You know how he is, Uncle.”

It was a poor attempt to save face and Thorin clearly knew it; Bilbo watched him war between questioning, lecturing, and letting it lie. The king finally turned away with a shake of his head and the princes and Bilbo both let out a sigh of relief; any dalliances Kili was participating in hardly needed to be brought into light on that day. Especially so if the other half of those dalliances was who Bilbo suspected they might be though he could not know for certain - he vowed he would remember to ask Fili, however. The hobbit could be persuasive when he wanted to know the best of any gossip.

He patted Thorin’s side and leaned against him; the king resumed his nuzzling into Bilbo’s hair and they waited in relatively peaceful silence for the caravan to arrive.

When the first carriages and dwarves began to appear, Bilbo was hit with the magnitude of the caravan itself; it only grew in size as it crept closer. It was a gentle sloping hill between the Road from Dale and Erebor and it was like watching an army approach. Thankfully war drums did not accompany this one and the excited murmurs that began to flow through the citizens of the Mountain around him actually seemed to put him at ease. The guard that had been sent out to meet the Lady Dis was visible at the head of the group and Fili and Kili could contain themselves no longer; they bustled through the few members of the Company ahead of them and began to run down the Road to meet their mother, shouting ‘Mum’ and ‘Ma’ all the way. Bilbo lamented that he no longer had scales and thus was susceptible to tears. It was entirely unfair.

Twice he had to loosen Thorin’s fingers on his shoulder and could only thank Eru when the crowd began to push forward as they began to make out individual dwarves. Bilbo spied Fili and Kili on either side of a dwarrowdam with dark hair and though he could not make out her features quite yet, he knew well who it was; a deep, steady breath spurred him into walking alongside the king. The families surrounding them began to shout when they spied their loved ones, who were pushing their way to the front of the caravan; Bombur still impressed Bilbo with his speed as he ran to a lovely looking dwarrowdam with the same color hair as he and what looked like at least six dwarflings, who proceeded to climb over him.

Bofur was hot on his brothers heels and swooped one of the littlest ones up to plant a loud kiss on their forehead as they shrieked at him. His hat was stolen and passed between his nieces and nephews and Bilbo’s heart ached; he quite missed the fauntlings of the Shire. Those that had been by Bag End had to have sprouted at least a head each and he desperately wished to see them - he knew he would, likely in less than six months’ time. Perhaps he could steal a few away for himself when he returned to Erebor; smiling, he watched Gloin trot to a plump dwarrowdam and a dwarf that looked so much like him, Bilbo knew it could only be Gimli. After hearing Gloin wax poetics about his family, the hobbit was eager to meet them; he was eager to meet _everyone._ And though he _was_ frightened, he was most looking forward to meeting Dis.

He slid his eyes back to the dwarrowdam as she came closer and felt Thorin fidgeting at his side; with a snort, he pushed the king forward and watched as he moved quickly to his sister. Fili and Kili at her sides weren’t ashamed of their tears and they beamed at their uncle as Thorin approached; his forehead met his sister’s with a gentleness that made Bilbo twist his shirt in his hands. Jewel-covered hands laid across the back of the king’s head before Dis pulled away and Bilbo watched as her Durin-blue eyes caught over Thorin’s shoulder and locked onto him. He swallowed.

Dis _was_ lovely but goodness _gracious,_ she looked so much like Thorin that he was struck silly. She was much smaller than him, almost exactly Bilbo’s height, but she had the same raven hair (lacking in any grey) and sharp nose Thorin had. The king had mentioned it at some point and Bilbo remembered that the third sibling had been the oddball; that information did little for him then and he straightened himself out, stepping forward as Thorin turned to hold a hand out to him. He took it and smiled, a bit strained, at Dis. She arched a finely groomed eyebrow.

“So this is the hobbit,” she said by way of greeting. Her voice was deep and commanding, perhaps another Durin trait, but with a definitive feminine air to it. She was dressed in fine traveling clothes, light black mail surrounded by dark blue cloth; the furred coat suited her well. Bilbo was more than used to dwarrowdam’s and their beards but he did notice the distinct lack of braiding in her own; it was sparser than Thorin’s and mostly crept along her jawline but for the tuft in the center of her chin. There were no beads or braids and he wondered if Dis might have shorn it alongside Thorin; the king had apparently kept his short after losing Erebor, which Bilbo really did not at all understand. It was hardly his fault.

Thorin pulled Bilbo closer to his side as the hobbit wondered if every person on Middle Earth he met would first view him as a bug on their great ugly boots. “Dis,” Thorin said somewhat firmly before he squared himself, a proud line to his shoulders. “Dis, it is my great honor to introduce you to Bilbo Baggins. My intended and the one we can thank for allowing us to stand in Erebor today. Without him, all would have been lost. Bilbo, my sister, Dis.”

Bilbo blushed all the way to the tips of his pointy ears and cleared his throat, pushing past Thorin’s words the best he could. He was hardly the _only_ reason why they had Erebor. “Err, yes. Yes, ah, it is very good to meet you. Truly, it is, I’ve heard so very much about you-”

“He looks more a grocer than a burglar,” Dis commented, as if he hadn’t speaking at all, a considering frown twisting her features. Her eyes trailed up and down along his person and Bilbo felt his hackles rising, quite unable to help it. “Tell me, Master Baggins, as I simply could not believe it to be true. I have received many letters informing me of your deeds but the most curious tale came along with them; are you as they say?” Thorin was glaring at his sister for daring to question him but Bilbo waved him off; Fili and Kili at her sides were smiling so fondly at their mother that the hobbit felt as if he were being poked on purpose - she wanted to see if he breathed fire.

“Well. If you mean the burglar business, then yes, I most certainly am,” he declared proudly, rocking forward on his toes and nodding. “A fine one, I’d have to say, to burgle from a dragon. I had no advantages, though, believe you me; I might have been a dragon once upon a time myself but I can assure you that as a simple hobbit, it gave me no leverage. Beyond that, you’ll have to tell me what they’ve said I am.” He smiled as he locked his hands behind his back and watched Dis continue to inspect him with a critical eye; he ignored three heads swinging between them.

“Oh, beyond that, they’ve said you are many things,” Dis responded lightly, stepping closer to him. He held his ground and watched as her eyes narrowed; her heavy brow made her all the more intimidating but he was entirely unimpressed with Thorin at this point, surely he could move beyond Dis. “I would like to hear tales of your deeds in your own words; there must be something truly special about you that I cannot see on parchment. A dragon that is also dragon _-slayer._ But I must confess that what I am most eager to hear is how you have managed to make my brother look like such a besotted fool.”

Bilbo sniffed as Thorin snapped his mouth shut with a click. “To be quite honest, I didn’t do much of anything in that regard,” he replied. He opened his mouth to continue, but Fili snorted.

“Aye, he only had to exist,” he teased, grinning up at his uncle. Thorin was a bit red around the nose but he still managed a mighty scowl; not one person there failed to see through it, however, and Dis chuckled, slipping her arm around Bilbo’s.

“You must tell me how it has come to be anyway,” she said, tugging the hobbit around and beginning to walk toward Erebor’s gates with him. “Speak with me as we walk. I wish to look upon Erebor again. It has been too long.”

Bilbo gladly walked with her, looking up at the Mountain as they began to move through the people of Erebor meeting and greeting their loved ones around them. “It certainly has. I quite like Mountains myself and Erebor is truly beautiful; she’s nearly to her previous state, according to Thorin, though structurally she still needs a bit of work,” he informed her. Bilbo distinctly heard Kili mutter that it was like she had just seen them yesterday and not a year and a half before but Dis only offered a slight wink, ignoring her sons and brother otherwise. He grinned. “Do you know what, I’m more than happy to tell you whatever you’d like to know, but I expect to hear tales of your own in return!”

Dis smiled at him and he was pleased to see the gleam he recognized from Fili and Kili in her eyes. “And I will be so glad to tell you them,” she responded. “Mahal knows what Thorin has kept to himself. Though his letters were long, according to my sons’ own he left numerous events from your journey out. I have gone too long only reading of what has occurred and it has been maddening. Now that I have seen they are truly whole and hale, I am eager to hear it.” She turned her head as Kili fell into step at her side, snatching up her hand and sending the stink-eye between them both for being left behind.

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder; Thorin and Fili were following and while the blond looked content, the king appeared grumpy. When he saw the hobbit’s eyes on him, he sent him a flat, unimpressed stare and Bilbo snickered, turning forward. Well. He had wanted them to get along, hadn’t he? Bilbo was simply glad he was no longer terrified out of his mind and he was quite looking forward to getting to know the dwarrowdam that had helped Thorin through the loss of their home and part of their family. From what he understood, Dis had saved them all as much as Bilbo had gone on to do and he was rather proud he would one day call her his family, too.  
  
And though there was still much to do that day with hundreds of dwarves to welcome into the Mountain, it felt a little more right for Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a tiny bit of fluff and plans for the future in the final chapter ahead.
> 
> Sorry about the delay on this. I started to feel really down and it made writing difficult for a while. I hope this chapter is okay and if you're reading this story, I'd really love if you could leave a comment! Thanks everyone.
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	11. Chapter 11

Deep rumbles of Khuzdul followed Bilbo as he stomped out of the Council chambers, a thin stone board tucked underneath his arm and a stack of parchment clamped tight in his hand. A stoppered ink bottle and quill were in his breast pocket and while he had quite a lot of work to do, he would not do it until no dwarves were within sight.

“Most uncivilized creatures I’ve met in all my life,” he muttered darkly to himself, glaring at the few dwarves in the Hall ahead. They were doing nothing but walking or conversing quietly but they were still very much dwarves and likely deserved his ire for some reason. He was entirely bothered to realize that he felt this way after every Council meeting and wondered why he kept letting Thorin talk him into keeping his place there. There were surely others in the Mountain that could take his spot and fit in with the unruly balls of unpleasantness that were noble dwarves.

Not only did he have to get up at a truly despicable hour of the morning - respectable people made sure they were always well rested - but he had to argue with nobles for at least three hours. And at least twice a week, though lately it had been three! They would surely be the end of him before he ventured back into the Shire, something that was planned in just a month; he was already beginning to feel antsy though that did not help him or Thorin. When he began to fret, he inevitably caused Thorin to follow him into it, and they had been bickering more than usual the last week or so. Nothing so bad but enough to cause Thorin to lavish him with presents in his apologies; Bilbo would never turn down a good book or sweet treat but jewelry was still a bit much for him. The beads in his braids were quite enough, thank you very much.

Bilbo huffed as he marched through Erebor, heading for the Southern Gates, hoping he came off grouchy enough for no one to stop him. Thorin was still back in the Council chambers and would likely not come out for a while yet; even when he did, he would go on to work further and Bilbo was hardly needed. Which he was entirely grateful for. In two hours, he had an appointment with Dis and the tailors to see how his ceremonial robes (distinctly dwarven) would fit, and he very much wanted to get some work done in peace and quiet before that. He would see Thorin at supper time and that was fine by him.

The hobbit arrived at the gates after ten or so minutes and was given polite greetings by the guards posted there; he was a common enough sight. The ramparts offered a lovely view of the lands surrounding Erebor that were currently in their spring blooms; life was sprouting outside of the Mountain for the first time in over a century and he was glad to see it. The Southern gates in particular had two large pillars that were half carved into the Mountain, just above the ramparts, and each had a flat, square platform a few feet above the top of the battlements. It was big enough for him to sit on and do work; it offered quiet and for the most part kept him from being seen. Which was a good thing for him - if Thorin saw him there, he would likely try and forbid him from it, as _surely_ he would plummet to his death.

He grumbled as he made his way to his favorite pillar, the Easternmost one that offered a view of Dale, clambering onto it and settling his back against the smooth surface behind him. He took in long, deep breaths of fresh Mountain air, closing his eyes and letting himself find calm; he hadn’t had it since the night before. Bilbo looked down at his parchment, settling it on his stone board, plucking out his ink and quill. He had numerous reports to scour on the Spring crops and he was glad to immerse himself in them - he was quite proud of everything that was growing inside and outside of Erebor. The dwarves had seemed rather in awe of his ‘ingenuity’ and he lamented that in all the ages of this world, they had never gotten something so basic as farming down. They loved rock far too much in Bilbo’s opinion.

The familiar scratches of the quill on parchment with the occasional bird song was all he heard for a good long while. He failed to hear the guards begin to chatter and didn’t pick up the deep voice that belonged to the newcomer until they were standing next to his pillar.

“A fine place for an escape,” the voice said with amusement and Bilbo startled with a small cry.

He clutched his hand against his chest and twisted around to stare down at Gandalf, blinking quickly at the wizard that was peering up at him from under the brim of his hat. Bilbo gaped for half a moment more before he let out a gusty sigh, scowling, and returned to his parchment.

“I am not hiding, you know,” he muttered sullenly. He had not seen Gandalf since the wizard had left once the battlefield had been cleaned and the safety of Erebor had been ensured. He had ridden off on his horse and went on to do what wizards did best; drag others into business that was surely not their own! “It’s good to see you’ve decided to come rescue me and take me home finally. I’ve had it up to my neck with dwarves.”

Gandalf chuckled. “I am sure,” he replied, not sounding as if he believed the hobbit at all. Bilbo peered at him from the corner of his eye and squinted when the wizard put on a terrible facade of innocence. “And how are you, my boy? Faring well on a dwarven Council and at the king’s side?”

“I’m faring perfectly fine, thank you, and whatever you’re here for, my answer is no,” Bilbo warned, waggling his quill at Gandalf’s large nose. He was huffed at and when the wizard waved his staff irritably at him, he groaned, making a show of scooting himself along the platform. Gandalf hopped onto it with ease and settled next to him, letting his staff lean against the pillar below. “I am much too old for these games, Gandalf, I don’t wish to hear it.”

“I am certain I don’t know what you mean,” Gandalf replied, patting at his robes in search of something. With a soft ‘ah,’ he pulled out his pipe and a small bag of pipeweed, beginning to pack it. Bilbo very much saw him peeking out of the corner of his eye. The wizard harrumphed.

“Can I not simply come to check in on an old friend?”

Bilbo snorted. “No,” he answered, “you cannot. You are incapable of minding your own business. I am actually quite busy these days, you know! I hardly have time to sit around and relax anymore.” He turned back to his parchment with a sniff, dipping his quill into the ink again, tapping off excess on the side of the jar. Gandalf only grumbled at him from under his breath as he lit his pipe and began to puff on it. “Are you going to tell- oh!”

He snapped his head up to look at Gandalf, his jaw hanging slack. The wizard was wearing a smug smile but he ignored it. “You’ve been to the Southfarthing?” he asked in a hushed tone, looking at the lazy white smoke billowing up from Gandalf’s pipe. The wizard plucked his pipeweed back out and held it up; Bilbo snatched it from his hand and hastily set aside his quill, bringing the bag to his nose. He inhaled Old Toby and let out a long, slow groan of pleasure.

“Oh, that is truly wonderful. May I?”

“Of course,” Gandalf replied, sounding terribly amused. Bilbo plucked his own pipe out - he often needed it on his person due to stress - and made sure its bowl was clean before he began to happily pack it. “Ah, I did spend two nights in the Shire. I went by Bag End and it has not been ransacked as you feared. Gerontius said that while you were still keeping up correspondence he wished for me to send you his best regards and that he is also looking forward to seeing you. I daresay they all are though they seem equally eager to meet Thorin.” He moved his hand to cover Bilbo’s pipe and when he pulled away, the leaf inside was burning.

“I am sure-” Bilbo puffed on his pipe “-that they are. Terrible gossips.” He slowly breathed in and felt his eyelids flutter closed as the soft, delicious pipeweed filled his throat and lungs. An instant warmth filled his chest and he exhaled, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Oh, you have brought this at the very best time. I am sure I am about to suffer a heart attack because of all of this nonsense.” He waved at the board on his lap before he set it aside, stoppering the ink bottle and putting it on his parchment so it didn’t flutter away. Bilbo leaned against the pillar as he and Gandalf puffed on their pipes.

The wizard glanced at him. “You will soon be on the Road again and will have some months of peace,” he reminded. “I may be in Rivendell when you pass through and if I am, I will accompany you to the Shire; just in time for the Summer Festival, I should think. My fireworks will be ready for it!” He curled his lips and blew out smoke that formed into a butterfly which began to flutter up and above them.

Bilbo watched it with a smile. “Though I can’t say Thorin will be thrilled by your presence, I am very much looking forward to the Festival and your fireworks,” he said, watching two ravens swoop suddenly around the Mountainside and over the ramparts, off to find the recipient of their messages. He blew a smoke ring of his own after another puff and Gandalf promptly blew a dragon, which glided through the circle.  
  
“Do you know, I’m a very good model if you plan on bringing one of those dragon-types about this year.”

Gandalf huffed out a laugh. “They have always been modeled after you, my dear boy, and you know it,” he replied with some dryness, glancing sidelong at the hobbit. Bilbo simply grinned at him and the wizard shook his head. “You will have to warn Thorin ahead of time or he will think it a mockery.”

The hobbit did genuinely blanch. “Oh goodness, I didn’t even think of that. Well. I’ll warn him but he will simply have to deal with it when the time comes. He’s lucky I’m letting him come along to begin with,” he muttered, holding his pipe against his thigh as he glanced toward the sky. He still had some time before his appointment. “How long are you staying in Erebor? Surely more than one day?”

“I had planned on staying through the night before I must ride South though I will be back in time for the ceremony,” Gandalf answered. “Bilbo Baggins to be married. To Thorin Oakenshield no less! The ways of the world remain mysterious even to me.” Bilbo sent him a flat stare as he was winked at.

“Hah _hah._ I didn’t quite expect it myself, of course, but here we are. I think the entire East has been invited and I’m not looking forward to it one bit. Well, perhaps one bit, but that is all. It’s much too grand for me but I suppose that it’s a dwarven kingdom and I should be respectful, hmm? Not that they’ve been entirely respectful of any hobbit traditions, though! You should have seen how horrified the tailors were when I asked them to make me a few waistcoats. Thought they’d keel over,” he ranted, scowling at the memory. “I insisted as I am a _hobbit_ and not a dwarf and one had the gall to say I was really _neither,_ so why did it matter? Oh, I was very angry, believe you me, and I am now the proud owner of eight waistcoats. Of all the ignorant things- but of course I am scheduled this very day to try on my new ceremonial robes. The coat has got a fur collar and I must say, it had best be in _very_ fine taste, or I will throw it into the nearest fire.” He puffed up as Gandalf began to chortle.

“Do you see my hair? Do you know how difficult it is to find a barber to cut hair simply to keep it short? I’ll tell you: it’s impossible. I simply decided to grow it out and Thorin seems to like my braids more than what’s surely proper and they are better for work but _still._ Another dwarven tradition I am following. Kili insisted I grow a beard to match and though he’s known me for nearly two years now, he seemed rather surprised to find out I can’t,” he stated drily, rolling his eyes. “They’ll be the death of me yet, Gandalf, and I blame it entirely on you.”

Gandalf continued to chuckle, his eyes twinkling as he sent Bilbo a knowing smile. “And yet I have never seen you so content,” he said. “I am glad to take the blame for that, my boy. I cannot claim to have known this would occur though I knew that you would find your place among Thorin Oakenshield’s Company. I do believe I informed you that you had a larger role yet to play in this world and it seems as if I were right-”

“Which you do so love being.”

“-in the end. And of course I knew you would like another adventure,” Gandalf continued as if he hadn’t spoken, looking toward the clouds so he could ignore Bilbo’s mild glare. “I would go so far as to say you are fond of adventure. Which is why-”

“Absolutely not,” Bilbo declared, waving his pipe toward the wizard. He shook his head firmly and scowled as Gandalf side-eyed him. “Do not even continue, I wish to know nothing about it-”

“There is a fellow in the South-”

_“Gandalf-”_

“His plight is a most sympathetic one-”

“Gandalf!” Bilbo cried and the wizard had the gall to look surprised. The hobbit scowled again. “I am getting _married_ in a fortnight and I do not wish for anything- _anything_ else to be on my mind. Do you understand me? I have enough to think about with these- these _dwarves_ and my job and Thorin and _getting married_ and my trip back to the Shire. I have played my role, I have done my part, and now I am going to live out the rest of my days in relative peace, please and _thank_ you.” He squinted as Gandalf stared at him in an appraising sort of way, though his lip was curled in distaste.

Gandalf finally grumbled, waving his robe-covered arm at the hobbit. “Fine,” he muttered tersely. “But do not think that you have heard the end of it. I think you may find it an interesting tale, if nothing else, but if it will keep you calm until after the ceremony, I will wait.”

Bilbo groaned. “I don’t want to ever hear it,” he muttered petulantly, lifting his pipe. He puffed on it twice in an attempt to get back into the relaxed state he had been in before the meddling wizard opened his mouth. “I’ve too many scars I have to see every day to even think twice about running out of the door again.” He lifted his hand instinctively at the mention of them and scratched at his left shoulder; the four marks there had hardened and grown gnarled in their healing due to the size of them. They weren’t by any means attractive but Thorin tended to spend quite a lot of time touching them; it had taken a good scolding before the dwarf had finally stopped frowning whenever he did because he liked to blame himself for them.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Gandalf allowed, not fooling Bilbo for a moment. They lapsed into a fairly peaceful silence, smoking until their bowls began to empty, and the sun began to move beyond midday.

Bilbo shifted around when his leaf was finished, tapping the remains out against the side of the pillar, watching the small debris flutter away. “Do you know, next fall it will have been-”

“Two hundred years,” Gandalf finished for him. “Indeed. Will you celebrate it?” Bilbo snorted with laughter.

“Celebrate it,” he repeated, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe I will though I don’t know how. A very large feast, perhaps, and maybe some of my own songs. Perhaps I will have an entirely hobbitish celebration; seems only fitting, hmm?” He stretched his arms above his head as Gandalf chuckled and slid himself from the pillar, hopping off of it with grace that betrayed his elderly appearance. Bilbo gathered his materials and followed him, feeling far too many aches.

Gandalf dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Quite. I came across you on a River not one hundred miles from where we stand today, Bilbo Baggins, and you were a truly pitiful sight to behold,” he declared as Bilbo huffed. “You implied vulgar deeds when I expressed my wish to help you and threatened to eat me if I did not leave you be. And though you did not look it, I knew that you were entirely a hobbit. You are very dear to me, my boy, and I am happy for you. Your kin have squandered their opportunities at a fulfilling life but you have embraced it and for that alone, I am glad.”

Bilbo rocked forward on his toes. “Oh,” he managed, arching his eyebrows at his old friend. “Well. Goodness. Thank you, Gandalf, it means quite a lot. I very much did wish to eat you and I might have if I had been capable of moving.” He grinned a little as the wizard huffed out a short laugh. “Do you know what, I’m happy for me as well! I have been for a good long while now.” They began to walk together, heading down the stone stairs that led down into the Mountain proper, and when they reached the bottom, the wizard stopped.

“This is where I leave you for today,” Gandalf said, looking down at Bilbo with a kind smile. “I should think I will see you soon and on a fine day, indeed. Do try and stay alive until then. I will not blame you for an early death, however, when you choose to spend your days with Thorin Oakenshield.”

The hobbit blinked before he began to laugh, quite unable to help it. “I say that to myself every evening before I go to bed,” he returned with a large grin and Gandalf winked. “Goodbye, Gandalf, and I will see you on that very fine day. A fortnight from this one, remember!” The wizard murmured an agreement, inclined his head, and set off at a brisk pace. He disappeared down another stairway to Bilbo’s left not a moment later and the hobbit sighed, turning and beginning to march his way to the tailor himself. He did not wish to make Dis wait for him.

——

“Ah, very handsome,” Dis sighed, clapping her hands together once and holding them against her bosom. Her eyes were roaming over Bilbo as he stood on a stool in his fine ceremonial robes - the tailor was adjusting the hem at the bottom of the fur-lined coat and was nearly finished with him. “You and Thorin will blend well together; blue has always suited him and it does you, as well.” She walked in a circle around him and he huffed.

“While I agree with blue being Thorin’s color, I’m still not used to such a dark material myself,” he replied, clearing his throat as the tailor sent him a flat stare. “It is lovely but I’m used to wearing lighter shades, that’s all.” He looked down and over himself again, eyeing the fur on his coat; it was light in color and there was a perfect amount of it. He didn’t feel quite so ostentatious but he did feel a great deal more fancy that he normally wished to. They were ceremonial, of course, and the clothes he would wear on his wedding day, but he was glad he could wear them for other occasions as well.

“Thorin will adore it,” Dis commented lightly, smirking as the hobbit sighed. The tailor backed away and motioned Bilbo off of the stool; he happily hopped down from it and Dis stepped forward, brushing her hands along the sleeves of his arms. “This will do well. It is still early in the day and we can visit the jewelers. You have been putting it off for too long, Master Baggins, you need a crown.” She arched a fine eyebrow at him as he whined his displeasure.

He had to refrain from stomping his foot. “I have been without a crown of any type for months now,” he complained, turning to look at himself in the full length mirror. He tried to picture a crown as heavy and angular as the one Thorin wore and felt his neck ache just at the thought of it.

“I don’t see why I have to wear a crown-”

“Oh, Consort of Erebor,” Dis interrupted in a deep, put on voice, “surely you can see reason. It would be frowned upon if you did not wear one, Bilbo, and why must it be like Thorin’s? I know what you are thinking and you are not obligated to wear a specific crown. We can get a circlet, if that would do you best, but a crown is traditional. Your intended is a fan of traditions.” She sent him a meaningful look in the mirror, as if he should know that already; which he did.

He sniffed. “That may be but he’s marrying a hobbit,” he pointed out, looking at her and arching his eyebrows expectantly, “and therefore breaking any tradition dwarves in the line of Durin have ever had, thank you very much. A circlet would be alright, I think. Let’s see… my beads, I’ve got those. My clothes now, a circlet soon enough… and Thorin will give me whatever ring he’s making me that day. I would say outwardly I’m quite set, thank Eru. May I ask how everything else is coming along?”

Dis’ eyes glinted. “Are you worrying about my capabilities still, Master Baggins?” she asked sharply and he began to sputter. She laughed. “As you shouldn’t. It is all coming along well, Bilbo, as I told you yesterday. The menu is prepared, food will be bought soon, decorations are being made, musicians are practicing the songs of the Shire. You are being written into dwarf history as we speak; it will be fine. You worry nearly as much as Thorin does - he was beside himself when I last spoke with him on the planning.”

Bilbo huffed out a short laugh. “If I worried as much as he does, I’d be greying too,” he muttered, looking back at his reflection as Dis snorted. “It is a rather big day for all of us but it’s more than one hobbit could have ever imagined.”

The dwarrowdam smiled at him as she came to stand by his side and they looked at each other in the mirror. “By the time my own wedding was being planned, Thorin had already expressed he had no desire to marry. My father and grandfather ensured my ceremony was fit for a king because of it but I do believe _Adad_ was completely grey by the end of it,” she said with some dryness.

“I’m sure it was a rather wondrous occasion and worth a few greys though,” Bilbo commented, smiling a little as Dis’ features softened with fondness. Her eyes held some sorrow but she masked it a moment later and nodded.

“Oh it was,” Dis sighed as her lips quirked. “Vili was as much of a mess as Thorin is now. He was the nephew of a noble on the Council and without a mind for politics himself, a leathersmith by trade. He wasn’t prepared for royalty but he braved it well enough after that day. That day, however, he sweated through two tunics and it wasn’t until the feast that he calmed himself. I suspect it was the ale my brothers insisted he always have in his hand.” She smirked as Bilbo snickered.

“I can only imagine,” he sighed, lifting his arms one at a time as the tailor stepped to him and motioned for him to do so. “I do wish I could have known them. Your brother and husband both. The stories I’ve heard about Frerin… well, if it’s alright for me to say, they make him feel quite alive. It’s a joy to hear them.”

Dis smiled at that. “It gladdens me to hear that Thorin tells them at all. He wouldn’t have been able to do so not long ago, you know,” she said softly, sending him a knowing glance. Before he himself, apparently. “Frerin would have loved all of this. The Quest, dragons, oh he would have found it all very amusing. He looked very much like Fili, have you heard?”

“Thorin has said,” Bilbo agreed, nodding at the tailor as the dwarf finished with him. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Master Andvari,” Dis parroted before turning back to him as the tailor ventured toward the front of the shop. “I confess that it was somewhat difficult to look at Fili and not see Frerin when he was in his 50s. My sons never knew him and yet they are both so like him… a wonder. Though they are both sensible enough and that comes from Vili, thank Mahal.”

Bilbo chuckled. “At least they have that though I didn’t believe it when I first met them, to be quite honest,” he teased, grinning as Dis chuckled, gathering his bundle of distinctly hobbit clothing. “Well, it seems we’re all settled here. Since I apparently have to wear a circlet, shall we go and get that nonsense done? Then I believe it’ll be time for afternoon tea shortly after that and considering I’ve only had biscuits for luncheon, I’m very much looking forward to it. Thorin and I are cooking supper together tonight and I am both terrified and excited for it. At least we best be or I will be having words with Balin.”

“Have words with Thorin. It’s my brother that overworks himself,” Dis pointed out, slipping her arm through his and beginning to tug him toward the main shop. “But considering he has been telling me for the last two days how well he can cook a pork chop for you now, I think he will show himself. My brother, ever the fool where you are concerned. I am proud of him.”

They chuckled together and wished Master Andvari a good day before they left the shop. It was a bustling day in Erebor and as it was just after luncheon, most of the hurrying dwarves were hastening back to their respective employments. The Mountain was well and alive and it didn’t matter how many times Bilbo had seen it, he was always taken by wonder, observing so many individuals. If he stood in the proper spot, he could see more dwarves than there were hobbits in Hobbiton, and what a thought that was!

Dis and he ascended three levels in the Mountain, chattering as they did so, heading for the jewelers that catered to the royalty of Erebor, even if Bilbo could have bought a circlet off of a stall and been perfectly fine with it. The dwarrowdam would not allow it, however, and so he would likely be stuck with something entirely too fancy for his tastes - and expensive. There was so much wealth in Erebor, as he intimately knew, that an entire bucketful of pristine diamonds was something to scoff at. It still made him feel mildly ill, knowing as well as he did what exuberant amounts of coins and gems did, but there had been no danger - only a persistent and occasionally annoying scent of treasure that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He hadn’t told Thorin how well he could smell it all as the king would likely fret about it but it was a mild complaint and one he had lived with for a very long while, once upon a time.

The duo entered a proper hall, the noise of Erebor quieting, though their voices, animated and cheerful, still carried. It was when they rounded a corner and nearly smacked into a royal guard that they properly paid attention to their surroundings - Bilbo knew these guards by name now and immediately craned his neck, looking beyond them for Thorin.

Indeed, the king was marching down the hall, Balin at his side, peering down at a document his advisor was holding out. Two more guards followed though the hall was largely empty beyond them and Bilbo wondered what on earth they were doing near there - he found he didn’t care much when he remembered he was in his new ceremonial attire and happily squared his shoulders, much to Dis’ apparent amusement.

Balin caught sight of them first and Bilbo watched as his bushy white eyebrows flew to his hairline before he began to positively beam at the hobbit. The advisor stopped and Thorin finally lifted his gaze as he did as well, catching sight of Bilbo and blinking.

Bilbo blinked himself as he watched Thorin, even twenty feet or so from him, noticeably pale. “They look alright, don’t they?” he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth and Dis sighed raggedly in return.

“Of course they do. He’s an idiot,” she returned, though she sounded terribly happy about it. Bilbo snorted as he continued to watch his intended all but gape at him, his mouth hanging slack; perhaps he didn’t have much to worry about after all.

At least he thought that until Thorin’s mouth shut and his cheeks began to grow flushed; when Thorin dipped his head and looked under his heavy brow at the hobbit, Bilbo felt his stomach hit the floor and a small noise of distress left his throat before he could think to stop it.

_“Mahal,”_ Dis suddenly groaned before she fell into giggles mixed with a worrying amount of snorts, “look at what you’ve _done_ to him.”

Thorin’s blue eyes were stormy even from that distance and Bilbo had to refrain from rolling his own eyes skyward as he begged Eru for patience - his dwarf was a tween! He sent Thorin an incredulous look when he continued to simply _stand_ there, his hands balled into tight fists at his side, his teeth no doubt grinding as they did when he was worked up - in one way or another at least. The king couldn’t have looked more stiff if he tried and with the way Dis was beginning to laugh loudly, she knew perfectly well what was wrong with him.

Balin was still grinning but when he looked at the king, it quickly fell away and Bilbo whined his displeasure as the dwarf visibly sighed, resignation coloring his features. The advisor rolled the parchment he was holding and stuck it into his outer tunic, sending a _look_ Bilbo’s way, shaking his head as if he were disappointed; which he likely _was,_ considering Thorin was an absolute fool of a dwarf.

“Oh for Eru’s sake,” Bilbo muttered, tugging on Dis, beginning to walk toward his dwarf. It seemed to spur Thorin into movement of his own and he walked toward them, his shoulders tense; the flush on his neck and his somewhat hooded eyes only served to make Bilbo begin to feel flustered himself. Before he could even open his mouth to scold, Thorin stopped in front of him, his eyes sweeping slowly along the hobbit’s person.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, his voice far too hoarse for the hobbit’s liking. “Bilbo, you look… they look- they are very becoming on you.” He lifted his hands as if to rest them on Bilbo’s shoulders but dropped them a second later as if burned when Dis burst into laughter; he turned a hot glare on his sister, squaring himself much like the hobbit had done a moment ago, his features twisting into a scowl. “Dis. I had forgotten you were accompanying Bilbo to the tailor today.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, _nadad,”_ Dis sang, grinning rather wolfishly between them, ignoring Bilbo’s whining. “He is very handsome, is he not? I knew they would fit him the moment I laid eyes on them. You both will make a fine sight come your special day.” She sent a wink the hobbit’s way and he huffed out a sigh, squinting at her.

“Yes, thank you for that,” he muttered sullenly, glancing back up at Thorin and arching his eyebrows to his hairline. “Thorin. Goodness, are you a tween? I hope you’re better than this in two weeks-”

“You have not worn clothes such as these before, _âzyungel,_ I will need time to get used to them,” Thorin interrupted, stepping closer and lifting his hand, brushing his fingertips through the fur at Bilbo’s collar. Dis continued to snicker and the king looked her way again, his lips thinning in disapproval; it didn’t faze his sister in the least and Thorin turned back to his hobbit. “Were you going to the jewelers?”

Bilbo hunched his shoulders, nodding glumly. “Yes. Am I to assume I’m not anymore?” he asked, squinting as Thorin all but grinned back at him in response. “Oh for- Dis, I may have to make an actual appointment with you. My soon-to-be-husband’s good sense seems to have left him. What little of it there was anyway.” He eyed Thorin for a moment longer before he looked back to the dwarrowdam, who was arching a brow and smirking at him.

She let out a put on, long-suffering sigh. “If you insist,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I have work I can find with Kili today, I believe, which is thankfully on the other side of the Mountain. If I do not see you this evening, I will see you as we break our fast on the morrow. Do go easy on each other.” She chuckled as Bilbo fought off his blush, waving gracefully before she walked to Balin, who had remained where he had first stopped. They both shared a look that was far too knowing in Bilbo’s opinion and he wrinkled his nose, looking at Thorin.

“Thorin,” he admonished, only to be blinded by another grin. Thorin apparently had no compunction about skirting his duties for the reasons he so obviously wished to and Bilbo had a hard time swallowing down the amusement bubbling in his chest. “Goodness gracious me. Whatever will I do with you?”

“Many things, I am hoping,” Thorin answered, leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to Bilbo’s brow even as the hobbit snorted. “You do look radiant, _kurdel._ I enjoy seeing you in blue.” He gently squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder, spurring him into turning around before he intertwined their fingers; together they set off down the hall.

“I’m sure you do,” Bilbo stated drily, squeezing Thorin’s hand with another huff. The royal guard fell into step behind them as they walked out of the hall and into the center of the Mountain, buzzing like the beehive it was. Whatever vibe they were giving off seemed to stop the many citizens and nobles from approaching them and they chatted amicably as they made their way to the palace and their quarters. It was a good long while before they did finally enter the homey rooms and Bilbo didn’t know why it surprised him when Thorin snatched him up and carried him, squawking, into their bedroom.

——

Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed, languidly buttoning up his soft linen shirt, eyes on the flames dancing in the hearth across the room. He could feel eyes on him and smiled just a little to himself before the bed shifted and strong arms slithered around his waist, holding him still before he could make to stand and find his trousers. Thorin’s nose brushed across the small of his back and he felt more than heard the dwarf utter words that he wasn’t likely meant to hear anyway. He turned his head, looking at his intended stretched on his stomach behind him, his eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against the hobbit’s back. The delicate fan of his eyelashes against his cheeks were nearly enough to spur Bilbo into getting back out of his clothes but he resisted the temptation.

“You’ll have to get back to work, you know,” he said quietly, delighting in the incomprehensible but entirely grumpy mutter he received in return. “It’s too early in the day for Balin to let it slide.”

“I am King Under the Mountain,” Thorin declared uselessly, tugging his head back and peering up at Bilbo, his hair a bit of a tousled mess. As he was snickered at, Thorin puffed out a sigh. “Must I? Where are you going, _ghivashel?_ If you are to stay with me, Balin will have no say in it.”

Bilbo snorted. “Oh please. He’ll give me that look that makes me feel as if I’ve disappointed all of Middle Earth if I try to keep you,” he responded, turning to face Thorin, tucking one of his legs beneath him. The dwarf shifted onto his side, naked as the day he was born, his innocent expression doing nothing for him when he let his legs spread open in a way that still brought heat to Bilbo’s cheeks. He grumbled. “I am going to take a walk, if you must know.”

Thorin heaved a sigh, dipping his head and staring up at the hobbit from under his heavy brow. “One of your mysterious walks?” he asked, sliding his hand up, tracing his fingers down the length of Bilbo’s arm.

The hobbit gave a sigh of his own, exasperated and amused. Thorin had taken to calling his walks _mysterious_ after the first jaunt he had taken outside of the Mountain; he hadn’t thought to inform anyone he would be going and had slipped on his ring to get a bit of fresh air without being bothered. His hike had been a little longer than he had originally intended and he had lost track of time - by the time he had ventured back into the Mountain, it had all but flown into chaos as Thorin ordered a search for him. It was one of the most embarrassing and ridiculous moments in his life and he _wasn’t_ shocked it had to do with Thorin Oakenshield. From then on, however, he had informed the dwarf when he would be taking a walk and promised to always be back before sundown. He was a creature of the earth but far more soil than rock and sunshine than firelight.

“Yes, one of those,” he intoned, rolling his eyes and lifting his hand to brush some of Thorin’s silky hair over his shoulder. “You know that I’ll be here and ready to make supper but I hope to see you here as well tonight.” He leaned in and kissed the king’s brow but Thorin caught the back of his neck before he could pull away and tugged him in for a kiss.

It was warm and tender but a flicker of tongue later and it was far more than that. Bilbo had to muster up the will to pull back from Thorin and groaned in distress at the heady gaze the dwarf was leveling him with. He looked beautiful with wet lips and hooded eyes, bare and spread - it was entirely too much.

“Walk,” Bilbo muttered, wriggling away from the dwarf’s grasp so he could sidle off of the tall bed. A heavy sigh of disappointment followed him and he flapped his hand over his shoulder as he went in search of his trousers. “Later, my dear. This isn’t our last night together, you know. I’ve been craving fresh air all day and I’m going to take a walk!”

“Can you?” Thorin asked, a horrid smugness to his voice that only served to send Bilbo into surprised laughter.

He shot a mock baleful look over his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, you didn’t try that hard,” he retorted, spotting his trousers on the floor behind the armchair somehow. He plucked them up and began to pull them on, ignoring Thorin’s grumble of protest.

“Come back to bed and I will try harder,” the king replied. “I wish to have you again.”

Bilbo leaned against the back of the armchair for support as he began to laugh heartily, looking at his dwarf, who appeared and sounded so entirely disgruntled that he felt himself fall a bit more in love with him. Thorin didn’t look entirely impressed with his laughter either and Bilbo shot him a cheeky grin. “You are a grown dwarf, Thorin, I think you can wait a few hours,” he lightly chastised, crossing the room for their closet. He didn’t particularly wish to go for a walk in his ceremonial robes and fetched a waistcoat instead; he tried not to startle when he grabbed one and turned to see Thorin looming in the doorway.

“Will you take your letter opener with you? For my own peace of mind,” he pleaded, reaching out to grab Bilbo’s hand and tug him closer. His tone was serious enough that the hobbit chose to only sigh with some exaggeration.

“I always do you know,” he commented, arching his eyebrows. “But I won’t have you worry about me anymore than you already do. Even if I think I’ve proven I can take care of myself.” He pulled back for a moment to slide his waistcoat on but when he made to button it, Thorin batted his hands away and began to do it himself, a familiar crinkle between his brows.

“Aye. Better than most dwarves. I know this, Bilbo, but I would still see you have some sort of protection outside of the Mountain. I doubt that you wander the Road,” he murmured, giving the hobbit a look that he chose to ignore. Thorin finished buttoning the waistcoat and smoothed his hand alongside the buttons before he lifted his arms and pulled Bilbo into an embrace, his nose finding its place buried in the hobbit’s hair.

Bilbo wrapped his arms around the dwarf, pressing his cheek to Thorin’s warm shoulder. “I’ll always have it on me when I leave Erebor, I promise you that,” he assured, sliding his hands up and down along a muscle-hardened back. They stayed wrapped around each other for a few long, comfortable moments before Bilbo gently peeled himself away, looking at Thorin’s face, smiling. “I will see you soon, my love. My ridiculous love.”

Thorin smiled, ducking his head before he leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I find myself unable to stop thinking of our wedding day. I did not imagine I could find happiness such as this in my life and I am grateful every day to have you, Bilbo. I admit that it is hard to concentrate on tasks when you are all I see. Our trip to the Shire will do me well,” he said softly, open and vulnerable in a way that never failed to leave the hobbit a bit breathless. “Go for your walk, _âzyungel,_ and I will look forward to this evening. I will be there.” He pressed another kiss to Bilbo’s brow.

He sniffed, straightening himself out. “Right,” he mumbled, blinking at the dwarf. “Yes, alright. I will, as well, of course. Goodness, is this you trying to keep me here still?” Thorin chuckled in response and Bilbo rolled his eyes, pushing past him and marching across their bedroom. Sting lay innocently on a bureau across from the massive bed and he plucked it up, strapping it to his trousers with ease that only served to bother him.

“I’m off then.”

“Aye. Be safe, Bilbo,” Thorin said as he followed him, dropping his hands atop the hobbit’s shoulders. He smiled, mirth dancing in his eyes as Bilbo arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him, before he snuck in a quick kiss.

“Put some clothes on,” Bilbo grumbled, sliding his fingers up to dance across Thorin’s stomach. It was, much to his endless fascination, a weak spot, and Thorin’s muscles quivered as he pulled away, grunting unhappily. “Go act like the king you’re supposed to be. I’m going to go act like the hobbit that I am.” He turned his nose up as he rotated on his heel and marched from the bedroom, pretending he didn’t hear a deep laugh behind him.  
  
Bilbo quickly made his way out of their living quarters and into the impressive, deserted hall outside; guards lurked at the far end of the hall as they always did and he sighed at the prospect of the journey back to the Southern Gates. But he had made a decision to breathe fresh air and he would certainly do so; it also did him good to spend some time away from the dizzyingly busy Mountain.

As much as he enjoyed complaining about dwarves, there was still something to be said about the actual quiet peace the Shire had offered him. The distant sounds of fauntlings playing in the Party Field aside, the comforting song of birds and the gentle wind had always settled into his bones just right. He would hear that soon enough he knew but it was still something he would not be able to rely on and it was what he missed the most about his old home. The serenity of it - which was why he needed his walks away from the busy Road and where he could connect with nature in the way that came naturally to hobbits. Because he was _very_ much a hobbit, thank you.

Bilbo ventured through Erebor, excusing himself out of a few conversations from dwarves that seemed exhilarated at the idea of him officially becoming their Consort - if Gandalf had declared he would one day be a Consort to a dwarven king, he would have laughed mightily in his face. It was still all a bit much but for Thorin, for his dwarves, he would weather anything.

Though the trip taking nearly an hour had him flustered and the moment he stepped out of the gates and was far enough off the path leading to the Road to not be seen, he plucked his golden friend out of his trousers and slid it on without any ado. Immediately he fell into the world of the ring and a great weight left his shoulders, allowing him to sag with relief and simply _breathe._ He gulped in fresh air for a long moment before he set off along the path he had now come to recognize as his own little personal strip of dirt - it wound around the Mountain and after half an hour or so would lead to a babbling stream. Mountain flowers of snowbell and bellflowers had recently bloomed near the shores and he thought it a rather private oasis for himself; he had thought of sharing it with Thorin once or twice but decided against it in the end. Then the dwarf would know where to find him on his ‘mysterious’ walks.

The hobbit walked, listening to the cool wind brush through pines, inhaling their scent and letting himself relax into it. It was a different sort of nature but he liked it all the same and knew he would grow to love it in time. And it was not long after he nipped a bluebell and stuck it over his ear that he began to hear the stream; he rounded a massive white boulder and was greeted to the sight of the quickly flowing stream, surrounded by green pines and washed-out rocks and pebbles. He ventured to his familiar boulder, a large, flat thing that sat just high enough for him to perch on and dip his toes into the water, happily scrambling onto it.

Bilbo huffed out a sigh of relief before he twisted left, then right, peering around for any other soul, though he knew there would be none. It was still best to check, especially when it came to making sure none would ever become privy to his ring. He smiled down at it before he pulled it off, letting the gold band settle in the center of his palm, a familiar cool weight.

The call of an eagle - the regular variety - caught his attention and he lifted his eyes to the sky, watching the bird far above him fly in a lazy circle. His heart clenched tight and he swallowed past a constricted throat as a sudden _longing,_ fierce and intense filled him. Oh, what he would give to fly just once more. He knew it was a silly thing to think about but after touching the skies the way he had, he sometimes wished he could take to them. It would mean a very painful few moments at the end of a wizard’s staff and Bilbo was vehemently against that, but a little daydreaming never hurt.

What a sight he would have made! A blood red dragon, calm in demeanor, flying over and protecting Erebor from any that wished to do her harm. He smiled to himself, his index finger tracing the outline of his ring, his eyes closing as a breeze fluttered by. He would never taste the crisp air so far above him again and it was such a bittersweet thought that his throat stung; he already had everything he could want and being a dragon had led to nothing but peril.

There were whispers, so soft and gentle, touching his heart with feather-light caresses, that told him, one day, he _would_ fly again. That he would have wings to stretch and that he would be able to feel the comforting warmth of his flames. The whispers sounded so near and yet felt so far; he opened his eyes again and looked down at the ring in his palm, humming to himself.

He smiled. It felt like so many voices that he knew, so many voices long gone from this world, had lifted from the ring itself and told him he would touch the skies again. He clamped his eyes shut tight as the whispers said it would not hurt, that it would only feel right, that it would be where he _belonged._ His fingers closed around the ring, tight, and the voices stopped; the babbling brook and birdsong that he hadn’t noticed disappear sounded so suddenly that he opened his eyes again and looked slowly around to make sure the world hadn’t closed in on him.

Bilbo let out a slow sigh before he tentatively opened his hand to lay flat, peering down at the ring of gold, the ring that had saved his life numerous times. He smiled a little. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he whispered back.

The ring was silent and Bilbo slipped it into his pocket, a heavy melancholy settling in his chest as he lifted his eyes to find the eagle had flown further East. He watched it soar over the pines, disappearing, and didn’t allow himself to wonder if he might someday too. Instead, he turned his nose up and inhaled the scent of crisp Mountain air, so different from the Shire, but bringing forth a similar thought and feeling; he was home.  
  
_End_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful, Bilbs. Thank you to everyone that has followed this, I really appreciate it. Your comments have gotten me through it and they mean the world to me. Please let me know what you thought of this story.
> 
> A huge shout out and thanks to [The Amazing Tea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier) for everything you've done! Thanks for letting me pile this story onto you. c: Your help and input were so valued.
> 
>  [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


End file.
